The Deepest Significance
by bananacosmicgirl
Summary: While working on a case, Tony gets sick but pretends nothing is wrong. When Gibbs sends Tony and Ziva out to track the possible murderer, things take a turn for the worse. Gibbs/DiNozzo, slash.
1. Chapter one

**Title:** The Deepest Significance  
**Author: **Cosmic

**Email: **bananacosmicgirl at hotmail . com  
**Website:** www . cosmicuniverse . net  
**LiveJournal: **bananacosmic . livejournal . com

**Parts:** 6  
**Words:** 23 700  
**Rating: **PG-13  
**Genre:** Hurt/comfort, angst, drama  
**Characters: **Tony DiNozzo, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, other cast  
**Pairings:** Gibbs/DiNozzo

**Warnings: **Slash  
**Spoilers: **General spoilers up to and including most of season five

**Disclaimer: **This story is based on characters and situations from the tv-show "NCIS", created and owned by David P. Bellisarius and CBS. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary:** Whilst working on a case, Tony gets sick but pretends nothing is wrong. When Gibbs sends Tony and Ziva out to track the possible murderer, things take a turn for the worse.

**Author's notes: **This is one of the first NCIS fics I wrote, I just haven't posted it. Lots of Tony angst. It was written in a record-ish eight days. I usually don't write things this long that fast, but this just flowed. I have gone back and rewritten and edited a good portion since, of course, because I started out with no plan at all, but I'm happy with the result and I hope you enjoy it, and find the characters at least fairy in character.

---

**The Deepest Significance  
**By Cosmic

---

--

Chapter one

--

"I'm fine, boss."

Gibbs looked doubtfully at his senior field agent. He hadn't asked about Tony's health out loud – he never did – but Tony had read his look and responded, rolling his eyes.

Gibbs couldn't quite put his finger on what was bothering him about Tony's appearance, but there was something nagging at his famous gut, and he hadn't gotten to where he was today by ignoring said gut. However, when the object of his thoughts – he refused to think of it as worries – clearly told him that he was fine, he probably ought to take it at face value.

"Did I ask?" Gibbs said instead. "What have you found?"

Tony changed immediately, from smiling goofily to concentrating on his job. Gibbs always enjoyed the transformation, even though it sometimes took a slap to the back of Tony's head to get to it.

"Abby matched the finger print on the knife in the kitchen to one Annie Reed, thirty-six years old, living on base. Her husband, Jonathan Reed, is away in Iraq," Tony said. "No criminal record but since her husband has a high level clearance, she was carefully checked out once they were married. No hidden skeletons in her closet, as far as they could find. Married six years last week."

McGee continued, "Mrs. Reed's telephone records show that she's been in touch with the victim; three calls in the last two weeks, all calls placed between three pm and nine pm."

"The neighbors have reported seeing Mrs. Reed and Mrs. Callahan together; apparently they especially liked to have tea on the porch," Ziva said. "No one seems to have noticed anything out of the ordinary."

Gibbs wondered what they were missing. No one killed another person without a motive – what had been Mrs. Reed's motive to kill their murder victim?

"Find out how they met," Gibbs said to McGee. "Tony, Ziva, you're with me."

--

The small house where the Reeds lived was a regular navy base house, with a small, green, well-kept front yard and a wide drive-way leading up to the garage sitting next to the house itself. There was a small porch and a comfortable-looking couch.

No one answered when Gibbs knocked on the door, and he signed for Ziva to take the back, whilst he and Tony opened the front door. Tony stood to Gibbs' side as the latter picked the lock, and he tried not to look too closely at those quick fingers at work. Such thoughts never led to anything good – quite often, it led to a head slap for letting his mind wander, and though those were often well-deserved, he didn't feel like one at the moment.

There was a kitchen to the left, a living room to the right, and a second floor with two bedrooms, one used as an office. The dishes in the kitchen suggested that Mrs. Reed would only be out for a short period of time. However, as Tony came closer, he saw the flies that were feasting on the leftovers, and it became quite apparent that Mrs. Reed had not been home in several days.

"All clear," Ziva said, coming into the kitchen. "The wardrobe upstairs might be missing some clothes, but she might just not like shopping."

"She seems to have been gone for a while," Tony said, motioning at the dishes.

"Ew," Ziva said.

"There's a knife missing," Tony said, pointing towards the knife racket holding five knives.

"Looks like a set," Ziva said. "Abby should be able to tell if the knife we found at Callahan's is the missing one in the set."

"So she takes a knife from here, goes over to see Callahan, and murders her in cold blood?" Tony asks. "It's not really the preferred method for women."

"I prefer poison," Ziva said with a feral grin. "Or an insulin overdose. Very effective, and it leaves little trace. Of course, I am very skilled with knives and guns as well."

Tony shook his head. "I know."

He had seen her skills with knives and guns firsthand on several occasions. She was a killing machine when she wanted to be. As long as she was on his side, he didn't mind – she could hold her own without him having to worry about her, and she had his back. She had been good for the team, even though it had taken months to build up trust between them. Her loyalties had seemed unclear when she had first started and it had taken him a while to learn to rely on someone who wasn't Kate.

Gibbs returned to the kitchen from his tour around the house, interrupting Tony's train of thoughts.

"She hasn't been here in a while," Tony said.

"Her cell phone is still in the living room," Gibbs said.

"Either she doesn't want it to be traced, or she left unwillingly," Tony said.

"Or she simply forgot it," Ziva said.

"A woman without her cell phone?" Tony said, looking doubtful.

"A man without one seems more of a leap," Ziva said. "You are much needier than us women."

Tony made a face at her, secretly loving their banter.

He told Gibbs of the knife set and Gibbs said, "Bag it and get it back to Abby so she can identify if the knife missing is the one she already has."

They left a half hour later, having found little of use. Tony had interviewed the only neighbor who was at home, but she had been unable to tell much, other than that she had not seen Mrs. Reed in a few days, now that she thought of it.

"But she keeps to herself quite a lot," the neighbor said. "Except that blonde woman – she's been here many times."

Tony showed the neighbor a picture of Callahan, and she confirmed that it was the blonde woman she had spoken of. Tony thanked her, and left with Ziva and Gibbs.

--

Ducky had his report from the autopsy ready for them when they returned. The autopsy room was chilly as always, and Tony wondered for the hundredth time how anyone could spend their days down here and not go insane. Then again, Ducky was rather—_quirky_.

"It was as straight forward as we expected," Ducky said. "Multiple stab wounds – a violent murder, I have to say, and my guess is it was driven by rage. The poor girl didn't stand a chance; I believe her assailant was stronger and larger than her. There are defensive wounds on her arms and hands, but with the speed and force the knife was brought down upon her, it didn't help much. The knife nicked the aorta here at this throat wound and she was stabbed twice in her heart. The death was quick."

"There was a lot of blood where she was found," Ziva said.

"No doubt," Ducky said. "Poor dear, she must have been very frightened. I know once, when one of my friends back in England was robbed, and the robber had a—"

"Anything that can point us to the killer?" Gibbs interrupted.

"Well, I can tell you that the knife used is most likely the one up in Abby's lab," Ducky said, "and that, like I said, I do believe the murderer was larger and stronger than her, but other than that, no. I'm sorry, Jethro."

Gibbs nodded, and turned to leave. "Get back to me if you find anything else."

"Of course."

Tony and Ziva hurried after him. Once reaching the bullpen once more, Gibbs barked his orders as usual.

"Tony, go through their friends, work and family connections," Gibbs said. "Ziva, go back to the crime scene. There must be something of use in that house that we've missed. McGee—"

"Check Reed's computer, on it, boss," McGee said.

Satisfied, Gibbs headed up the stairs towards MTAC, to see if they had been able to get in touch with Mrs. Callahan's husband and to order them to get a line up to speak to Mrs. Reed's husband.

--

Tony hung up the phone, sighing. Calling friends and family of a murder victim was never fun; even less so when he was forced to question said friends and family for information right after delivering the news. In this case, most of them already knew – it had been snapped up by the media, because the victim had been a beautiful young woman, with a rather successful modeling career in the making.

Not so much now, although they had taken plenty of pictures of her.

None of them had had anything of much use to share with him – the family was still in shock and had only just started grieving, and they had little to tell him other than what a wonderful daughter and sister she had been. The friends agreed; they'd told him she was loyal, beautiful, well-liked, and so on.

Tony rubbed his eyes, feeling rather worn out. He must look it too – Gibbs' questioning glance at him earlier told him as much. Perhaps it was a cold coming on. He hoped not; ever since his bout with Y. Pestis, colds had taken that much more out of him. Not that he got them often, but Dr. Brad Pitt, with whom Tony had stayed in touch, had told him on repeated occasions that he should be very careful when he did.

He had just picked up the phone to call the next one on the list when McGee exclaimed, "Got it!"

Tony looked at the screen, where McGee would undoubtedly pull up whatever he had found, whilst running wild with the geek-speak.

"In English, please?" Tony asked, interrupting McGee's tirade on what he had done to find the chat conversation now showing on the screen.

"This is the log of a chat that started three months ago," McGee said. "It had been deleted off Callahan's computer, but I managed to restore it."

"Obviously," Tony said.

"What've we got?" Gibbs asked, somehow knowing exactly when to return to the bullpen.

"A chat conversation, boss," Tony said. "Looks like it's between Callahan and Reed. McGeek found it in Callahan's computer."

"'BlondeChick85' is Callahan," McGee said, "and 'NavyLover72' has an email that corresponds to Mrs. Reed. They seem to have been chatting for a while. As far as I can see, they met each other on an online community."

"Online community?" Gibbs asked.

"Yeah, it's where you meet and talk online," McGee said. "There are dating communities, music communities, movie communities, family communities – pretty much anything you can think of."

"And what were these two talking about?" Gibbs asked.

"Uh, it's a relationship community – people talk about their relationships and the problems they've had, I guess," McGee said.

Tony wondered who would want to air their relationship troubles online, to complete strangers. He had a hard enough time opening up to people he knew. In fact, no one knew what his heart's desire was, other than himself, and he preferred it that way. Besides, it had obviously not ended all that well for Mrs. Callahan.

Gibbs echoed his sentiment. "Why?"

"I—uh," McGee said. "I guess they didn't have anyone else to talk to?"

"So they met on this site, and they exchanged emails and started chatting," Tony said. "It still doesn't seem like grounds for murder."

"Ah, but that's where you might be wrong," McGee said, and scrolled down a good while – the ladies had obviously talked for quite some time, on several occasions. The starting date had been three months earlier. "This is where it gets really interesting."

"Interesting, Probie?" Tony asked, waggling his eyebrows because he couldn't resist teasing McGee.

"Not like that," McGee snapped. "They start talking about guys that have done them wrong – apparently, they've both had affairs and a really bad experience with a man each. They both had plans to leave their husbands for the man, but then he conned a great deal of money out of them and disappeared. Only, after they talked for a while, they realized it was the same guy."

"Reed and Callahan were both screwing around with the same guy and realized it?" Tony asked. "That can't be good for the guy."

"The guy is Jason Rosenberg, age thirty-one, working as a computer specialist at InfoTech, who does some work for the navy," McGee said, sounding rather pleased with himself and his work.

"Address?"

McGee handed Gibbs a note with the address scribbled down.

"Tony, you're coming with me, we're going to see what we can find out about this Mr. Rosenberg," Gibbs said. "McGee, good job."

Tony almost smiled at the sight of McGee preening from Gibbs' praise. It had been a good job, although he wished he could have had more to present himself. He hated being a disappointment to Gibbs, and he always felt like one whenever he did not find information first. It happened rather often. McGee had turned into a good agent, and Ziva challenged him as she strived to be the best of the team. He knew they would one day surpass him – if they hadn't already – and he would be left unwanted and without a job, because Gibbs wouldn't keep him around then. He feared the day when Gibbs realized that he didn't need Tony anymore.

Getting into the car with Gibbs, he held back a sigh. His head felt a bit fuzzy, and he shook it to clear it. He needed to be alert.

--

Gibbs glanced at Tony, who sat staring out the side window of the car. He did not look ill, but there was something _off_. He shouldn't worry - it was unlike him and he suspected it would make Tony worry about him, if he suddenly started inquiring about his health.

"You with me, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked despite himself.

"Fine, boss," Tony said, head snapping around to look at Gibbs instead.

At least they were not heading into danger this time. Rosenberg was unlikely to be hanging around his own apartment, and Reed, who was either dead or had chosen to disappear off the radar, was equally unlikely to be sitting around in her former lover's apartment. As such, Tony could come with him for this, before Gibbs ordered him home to rest. He didn't care about working his team hard – it made them the best – but that was when they were healthy, and Gibbs knew what the consequences could be if Tony got sick again.

Gibbs had seen Tony near death enough times to last a lifetime already.

--

"Rosenberg?" asked the manager of the apartment complex where Jason Rosenberg had lived. "Haven't seen him in a couple of weeks ago. If you find him, tell him I'd really like to talk to him."

"Talk to him?" Tony asked.

"He owes me rent," the manager said. "D'ya think these apartments are free?"

Tony smiled slightly. "Do you mind if we take a look around?"

"As long as you don't mess things up in there," the manager said.

"Do you have any idea why he'd leave?"

"I just think he wants to get out of paying rent. Or perhaps he's fleeing from all those girls he keeps bringing here."

"Girls?" Tony asked.

"Yeah," the manager said. "I guess a nice-looking guy like him has no problems getting girls, but still – it's a new one pretty much every week. I'd say some of them even overlap."

Tony held out two photos; one of Marie Callahan and the other of Annie Reed. "Did you ever see Mr. Rosenberg with either of these two?"

The manager nodded. "That one," he said and pointed to Callahan, "was hard to miss. Such a pretty little thing, you know?"

"Yeah, well, she's dead," Tony said.

"Oh—_oh_," said the manager. "I guess you're not here to just find Rosenberg, then? You think he's _involved_?"

Tony shrugged and held the picture of Reed closer to the manager. "Do you recognize her?"

The manager frowned; obviously he had not paid as much attention to the less striking Annie Reed – who was in no way ugly, but not nearly as strikingly beautiful as Callahan had been – but he finally gave a small nod.

"Yeah, I think so," the manager said. "It might have been one of the ladies he had a few months ago. She dead too?"

"Missing," Tony said shortly.

He asked the manager to describe Rosenberg, which got him a snort and an account of a rather unpleasant man, who had been late with his rents several times despite seeming well off, hardly ever spoke to his male neighbors, and was generally unfriendly when it came to interacting with other men.

"Obviously, he had no problem with the ladies," the manager said, "but me, he hardly deigned look at, like I was beneath him or something."

Tony thanked him, gave him a card with the number to NCIS if he remembered something else that he thought might be important, and went inside to Rosenberg's apartment, where Gibbs was looking around.

Jason Rosenberg's apartment was on the fifth floor and looked expensive. The apartment itself was neat and tidy and Tony had to drool just a little over the huge widescreen TV that took up a large part of the wall in the living room, and what he suspected was a top-of-the-line surround system.

"How much did this guy con Callahan and Reed out of?" Tony asked, giving a low whistle as he pressed a button and blinds came down to cover the windows, making the room completely dark. It was like having a cinema of his own.

"According to McGee and Abby, there's been a withdrawal from Callahan's account for a hundred thousand," Gibbs said.

"And Reed?" Tony asked. "It seems kind of unlikely for a navy wife to have a hundred grand just lying around."

Except for a laptop, the two did not find anything worthwhile in the apartment. Although there was a multitude of fingerprints, they would not help – Callahan and Reed had both obviously been in the apartment on several occasions, and so had numerous other women. They would not be able to tie any of them to a crime even if they could identify the fingerprints.

"Besides, who knows if Rosenberg was even involved in our murder," Tony said, holding on as Gibbs drove them back to NCIS headquarters. "Maybe he just decided on a change of scene."

"No such thing as coincidences," Gibbs said.

--


	2. Chapter two

--

**Chapter two**

--

"What've you got, Abs?" asked Gibbs the moment they entered Abby Sciuto's lab, holding a CafPow in one hand and a coffee in the other.

McGee, who had been down there helping Abby with something or other, answered. "I just put out BOLO's for Reed and Rosenberg."

"We've gone through Reed's bank statements," Abby said. "She took a fifty thousand dollar loan four months ago, and the money was immediately transferred into another bank account."

"Rosenberg's?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes, although not in his name – it's in the name of Jake Davis," Abby said. "He has several aliases, although they're not all that well-developed, except one – Marcus Williams. The Jake Davis-account seems to be his preferred con-account. The transfers into the account are between fifty and two hundred grand each. At the moment, there's a grand total of one point six million dollars in there, from a total of sixteen transfers."

"Wow, three two hundred grand transfers," Tony said, looking at the bank statement. "He doesn't seem to con poor women."

"Actually," McGee said, "he does. He gets them to take out loans and transfer the money to him. Reed wasn't a rich woman to begin with, and Callahan's modeling career had only just started, so she wasn't making big bucks."

"He is an ass," Ziva said. "I wonder what he said to these women to get them to give him the money."

Tony had to give a quick grin. He had never and would never scam money off anyone, but considering how easy it was to get certain women into bed with just a few nice words, he could imagine that it wouldn't be that difficult to get the same women to write a check – especially not when the women in question were lonely navy wives with their husbands shipped off for months at a time.

"Have any of the other women who've paid him disappeared?" Gibbs asked.

"We don't know yet," Abby said. "We haven't had time to track all the bank accounts, but so far, no, they're all safe at home and accounted for."

"So," Ziva said, "Callahan and Reed both lose money to this guy. They meet by chance online and decide there needs to be some payback, and they kill the guy together. Callahan gets cold feet and wants to tell, and Reed kills her."

"Or Rosenberg realizes that Callahan and Reed are getting chummy and knows that might mean trouble," Tony said, "and he kills Callahan, frames Reed and then either kills her or has her flee, whilst he disappears."

"There's no evidence that Rosenberg was present when Callahan was murdered," Ziva said.

"There wouldn't be if he framed her, now would there?" Tony asked. "Trust me, I have intimate knowledge with framing."

"They usually leave some trace," Abby said. "Ziva found hair in the bathroom sink."

She pulled up an image on the big screen. It showed a rather short hair, perhaps two or three inches long.

"Someone cut his or her hair in that sink," Abby said. "This end is split, which means it's the end of the hair, but this one is clean cut, suggesting a pair of scissors or a knife. I'm running a DNA analysis and a tox screen right now, but it'll take a few hours."

Gibbs handed the Abby the CafPow, looking pleased. Tony felt a sting of jealousy – Abby could do no wrong in Gibbs' eyes, and it felt unfair sometimes. Tony loved Abby too – it was hard to not love her – but it would have been so wonderful to have Gibbs give him the same kind of attention, just once in a while, as Gibbs gave her on a daily basis. Then again, if Gibbs ever did kiss Tony's cheek, he was likely to grab Gibbs' shirt and pull him into a real kiss, and seeing how that would get him fired faster than he could say 'sorry', it was probably for the better that Gibbs had never tried to do anything of the sort.

--

As the hour became late, Gibbs heard Tony start coughing, though he tried to hide it by doing so into napkins, turning away from the rest of the team. It was a regular cough, but Gibbs knew that if Tony was allowed to stay at work until midnight – which he had been known to do many times over when they had a case – it might turn into something more serious.

"DiNozzo, go home," he said. "You're of no use to me sick."

Tony looked rather like a kicked puppy when he said that and Gibbs had to wonder why. Tony must know that none of Gibbs' agents were useful when sick – they had a job that sometimes required very quick thinking in life-or-death situations, and a sneeze at the wrong moment was not appreciated. After seven years on Gibbs' team, surely Tony must know this.

"I'm fine, boss," Tony said. "It's just dry in here."

"It is not dry in here," Ziva said. "It is rather humid, actually."

"Fine then, I coughed because it's humid," Tony snapped.

"DiNozzo—"

Tony interrupted him, which in itself was unusual. His tone was harsh. "Boss, I'm fine. It's just a cough."

He returned his attention to the computer screen and Gibbs knew Tony was studiously ignoring Gibbs and Ziva's looks. After a few moments of staring, Gibbs decided to keep working as well. He tried to ignore the sound of muffled coughing that returned every few minutes. When he finally went home that night, it was earlier than he usually went home when they had a case. He tried to tell himself that it was because there was nothing to do, not at all because Tony would refuse to leave until Ziva, Gibbs, and McGee had all left.

--

Waking in the middle of the night from a cough, Tony wondered what Gibbs would say if he called in sick. He wondered if he would have a job to go back to at all – being sick in the middle of a case was not okay, and Gibbs would likely have his head on a platter.

_You're of no use to me sick._

He wondered if he was ever of any use to Gibbs. It wasn't like the man ever told him that he was useful, or good. The one time Gibbs had told him that he was irreplaceable – which had made his heart leap, though Tony did not like to admit it – had turned out to be a joke. When Gibbs had nearly drowned and Tony had saved him, there had been no thank you, even though they had spent several hours in the hospital afterwards, getting checked out. The Marine had hardly said a word to him.

God, he wished that Gibbs would tell him he was grateful. Tony knew he could never wish for anything beyond that, but just some hint of happiness from Gibbs about still being alive, a sense that he was glad Tony had saved him would make it all worthwhile.

Again, Tony wondered what it would be like to be Abby, to be appreciated like her – it seemed so lovely. Perhaps he should find another job, spread out a rumor that he was going to quit and see how people reacted? But then, what would he do if they didn't care? If there was no reaction at all? Ziva would be fine without him, McGee would love to not be called 'Probie' and 'McGeek' all the time, and Gibbs—Gibbs would probably hardly notice. It wasn't like Tony had skills that were irreplaceable after all.

He coughed again, and hoped that by morning, his head would feel less heavy and his nose less stuffed, because if his speech was filled with d's, it would not take a genius to figure out that he had a cold.

--

Mr. Callahan didn't want to believe that his wife had been killed. Gibbs sighed as he remembered the disbelief in his voice – he knew all too well what it was like to find out that a loved one had been murdered, the world crumbling down around him, everything falling apart into pieces so small it was obvious that it could never again be put back together. For the billionth time, he wondered what life would have been like if Shannon and Kelly had not died.

Now he sat staring at the computer screen, sipping at his coffee. It was already nine o'clock and all of his agents had been there since seven, working and trying to find an angle to hit the case at, to get anywhere. But so far, very little had turned up.

McGee had found a batch of photos sent between Mrs. Callahan and Mrs. Reed, all of them of the Prince Charming – Jason Rosenberg. Sharing the photos had no doubt made them realize that they had been with the same man, even though he had apparently been Jake Davis with Mrs. Callahan, and Lucas Johnson with Mrs. Reed. Rosenberg's computer had so far turned up very little – there had been chat conversations with both Mrs. Callahan and Mrs. Reed, but those had ended a few months ago.

Gibbs wondered who would want that many women – he had had enough trouble with the few that had been in his life. Then again, perhaps he should ask DiNozzo, who seemed to appreciate the same lifestyle as Mr. Rosenberg – save for conning money off his conquests, that was.

For a moment, Gibbs wondered what it would be like to be the object of DiNozzo's attempts of seduction – he could imagine Tony in his finest suit, that million dollar grin and eyes dark and inviting, and it all made for a lovely image. That was, until said DiNozzo made the picture fall apart at its seams, as he coughed and sniffed in his chair across the room. Tony tried his best to hide the fact that his nose was filled with snot and that a cough escaped him regularly. Gibbs had tired of telling him to go home – he still didn't want Tony on the job if he was ill, but when Tony flat-out refused to admit anything was wrong, Gibbs did not feel like arguing. Still, he had a careful eye on his senior field agent.

"All right, what've we got so far?" Gibbs asked, standing up, annoyed with the lack of results. "Start at the beginning."

His three agents nodded, and Ziva and Tony stood in front of the large screen where McGee pulled up all the information they had collected so far. Gibbs noted that Tony seemed to move a bit slower than usual.

"Marie Callahan, twenty-three year old model and wife of Commander James Callahan, was found murdered in her home," McGee started. "A neighbor found the body when she came over to water the plants, as she had been asked to do, because Callahan was supposed to be out of town for a few days."

"Callahan was murdered with a kitchen knife found on the scene. Abby matched the size and depths of the cuts to confirm it," Tony said. "She was stabbed repeatedly in a violent attack, most likely brought on by rage according to Ducky. A fingerprint on the knife lead us to Mrs. Annie Reed, wife of Jonathan Reed. Mrs. Reed has been MIA since we started looking for her."

Just as Ziva was about to continue, Gibbs' phone rang. When he hung up ten seconds later, he said, "Abby's lab. She's got something."

The music in Abby's lab played on a deafening volume, as always. Gibbs startled her as he placed a hand on her shoulder, and he signed to her to turn down the volume.

"What is it, Abby?"

"DNA-results are back," Abby said.

"And?"

"They're not a match. The DNA belongs to a male," Abby said.

"So a guy was in the house too?" McGee asked.

"Yes," Abby said, "but I can't say within what time frame. It might be unrelated to the case – the hairs could have been in the sink for several days."

"If we assume that it is connected to the murder, why would a guy be cutting his hair in the sink?" McGee asked.

"You wouldn't believe how hard it is to recognize someone with a different hair style," Abby said, "especially not if it's combined with a new kind of clothes, perhaps colored contacts, and glasses."

"That sounds like a person who doesn't want to be found," Tony said.

"Yeah," Abby said. "_If_ it's related to the case."

"Why would a guy be cutting his hair in her sink if it _wasn't_ related?" McGee asked. "Especially since her husband is in Iraq."

"Good question," Abby said, no answer forthcoming.

Gibbs kissed Abby's cheek before they left – she had done a good job. She usually did, but she had also always been the one to whom Gibbs had shown his appreciation. It wouldn't do for him to start kissing McGee, Ziva or Tony on the cheek when they did something well – McGee would think he had been replaced by an alien, Ziva might kick his ass, and Tony—Gibbs had no idea how Tony would react. Gibbs rarely showed him the appreciation he deserved. It was hard – Tony was the core of his team, but telling him so seemed nigh impossible to Gibbs.

As they rode the elevator back up, Gibbs spared a glance at Tony. He was shifting uncomfortably, looking as though he was about to cough but held back, because he knew that standing this close together in an elevator, he could not possibly blame it on dry air or anything equally stupid.

Gibbs sighed, wondering what he was supposed to do about his stubborn senior field agent.

--

When the afternoon came, Tony and Ziva were sitting in the bullpen. Ziva had just returned from her third visit to the crime scene, having looked around to see if she could find any other evidence they might have missed in the bathroom, that a male had been there and changed after a murder. She came back with a blood sample from the pipes of the bathtub.

McGee sat by his computer frowning with concentration, doing geek stuff as always, and Gibbs was up in M-TAC talking to the Director.

Tony was mostly trying not to cough and attract Ziva's attention – because she had been looking at him all day with the questioning, too kind look that had him wanting to snap at her. Ziva was not supposed to be _kind_ – she was a fearless, sexy, trained killer.

The phone rang, and Tony picked up on the second ring. "Hello?"

"Help me. Help me, please."

Tony frowned. The voice that had spoken had definitely been female. "Mrs. Reed?"

Ziva's head snapped up and her eyes locked with Tony's and she signaled McGee, who immediately realized what was going on. Tony assumed he started to trace the call when he started hitting keys furiously.

"Mrs. Reed, we just want to talk to you," Tony said. "Why don't you come in to NCIS and we'll—"

"Oh God, he's coming—I—I can't talk to you," Mrs. Reed said. Then her voice changed, and she screamed, "Oh God, please help me!"

"Mrs. Reed?" Tony asked again. He heard the sound of a fist connecting with flesh, and the sounds that came after were those of commotion. Screaming – there was a male there, growling.

"Oh god," Mrs. Reed screamed. "Please—"

The line went dead and from the frustrated sound McGee made, Tony assumed there had not been enough time to trace it to a precise location.

"She's out in the Black Ridge Woods National Park," McGee said. "I have her location down to about a square mile, but she's turned the phone off again now."

"What is it with people and that park?" Tony said with annoyance.

"Perhaps they like nature," McGee suggested.

"What did she say?" Ziva asked.

"She begged for help," Tony said. "She was scared, and then someone was coming after her – a 'him'."

"Rosenberg?" McGee asked.

"Possibly," Tony said. "So what do we do – go out looking for her?"

Gibbs came in then. "Yeah. You and Ziva are going out there and if she calls again we'll trace it. That is, if you're up for it?"

A part of Tony wanted to say no, he wasn't up for it. He didn't feel well, his head full of fuzz and his nose filled with—other stuff. He knew Gibbs was trying to get him to admit that he was feeling unwell, but he couldn't bring himself to say it – he could not be such a failure.

He met Gibbs' blue gaze steadily.

"I'm fine, boss," he said, for what felt like the millionth time.

--

They reached the Black Ridge Woods National Park – the same national park the framed father, Brian Taylor, had been out running in – by sundown. Tony had dressed in a warm jacked and hiking shoes, but a chill ran through him as night started falling. They had the police with them; two men and two women, all in full gear with guns holstered. They looked as though they had hiked through the woods before – but then they probably had. So had Tony.

He briefly allowed his thoughts to return to the boy they had cared for. He had not wanted to admit just how much like him Carson was, because it would make the differences all the more painful. He wished that his own father had gazed so lovingly upon him just once, as Brian had done when the boy was returned to him.

"Come on, Tony," Ziva said, grabbing his arm. "You are sleepwalking."

"I'm—"

"Fine, yes, you've said so before," Ziva said. "Seeing how you are _fine_, you should be able to keep up."

She let her hand drop.

Ziva led the group to the outskirts of the circle from within which the phone call had been made. She ordered the police away in pairs, in different directions whilst she and Tony kept going in a straight line.

"She's probably long gone by now," Tony said. "Whoever 'he' is must've realized we could trace the call."

"Ah, yes, 'he'," Ziva said.

"Must be Rosenberg," Tony said. "If Reed and Callahan didn't plan on killing him after all, then Rosenberg's probably the killer. Or he and Reed are in it together, and he's running off with her."

He didn't quite understand why anyone would want to leave the sweet bachelor pad Rosenberg had been living in, but he knew people made stupid choices when they were in love. Of course, it didn't seem plausible in this case.

"Why would she call us then, and scream for help?"

Tony shrugged, having no explanation.

They walked in silence, but Tony noted that Ziva's hand automatically went towards her gun every time she heard a sound that she could not immediately identify as having been created by either of them.

When darkness had fallen and they only had their flashlights to rely on, Tony started shivering. He was unused to the feeling; he was normally hardly ever cold. He said nothing, however, instead continuing on. They would meet up with the police to set up camp at midnight, although Tony knew that they would not be getting much sleep. Each person would be on guard duty for a certain number of hours each, and either way, Tony didn't sleep well out in the wild.

They had failed to find the missing Annie Reed and Jason Rosenberg by the time midnight rolled around. The police had had equally bad luck, and Tony thought, as he said to the rest, that Rosenberg and Reed were long gone by now. It had been six hours since the call – they ought to be six hours away from them.

"I'll take the first shift," Ziva announced as they met up to set up the tent, and Tony sighed, knowing he would be awoken sometime in the middle of the night, to sit guard in the cold, dark night. He had never been afraid of the dark, but he had respect for the woods and the creatures that lived there. He shuddered as he thought of bears and the remains they had once investigated.

--

When one of the female officers shook Tony awake at three in the morning, he responded with a very manly cough.

"Are you okay? That sounds like a nasty cold," the woman said, her face scrunching up with concern.

"Yeah, yeah," Tony said, not even bothering to say he was fine. He knew he wasn't, but out here there was little to do about the fact. No extra warm blankets, no heating, no hot chocolate.

The woods were far from quiet when Tony came outside. Branches snapped and low sounds echoed over the treetops, and Tony shivered with cold. He wished he had a napkin to blow his nose, but napkins were rare out in the wild and the ones he had brought with him had been used up in the first five hours.

He walked around every few minutes, swinging his arms this way and that as he tried to get warm. It didn't work, but it kept him from falling asleep, which he assumed was preferred by the people sleeping inside. Ziva would have his head if she found out he had fallen asleep whilst supposedly keeping watch.

He had been on watch for maybe half an hour when a twig snapped differently. Tony didn't know what it was that made him turn his head to listen to that particular sound more than any other, but he did, and he saw a shadow moving. Frowning, his gaze followed the shadow as it moved. The moon was out, which was the only reason Tony could see anything at all.

It didn't move like an animal; its movements were not nearly as smooth as he expected an animal to be. He moved towards it slowly, hoping that perhaps it did not have his perfect vision.

He wondered if he should wake Ziva, but he knew that if it turned out to be a deer or something of that sort, she would be seriously pissed, and he did not feel up to dealing with that. Better to follow and see what happened, and he could call her if he needed her.

Then suddenly, there was a gun shot.

Tony felt the bullet whiz past his ear, impossibly close.

"Hey!" he screamed, and took off after the shooter. He knew the others must have woken at the sound of the gun shot, so he didn't worry about backup.

The shadow in front of him was fast, and his eyes played tricks on him in the deep woods. Bushes, trees, even animals here and there, moved like the shadow he was chasing, as the moon's weak rays filtered through the leaves. The sky was clear and splattered with stars, but he knew that it would have been better with a slightly cloudy night that reflected the moon's light.

He was fairly certain he was faster than the shadow he was chasing, but whilst he was chasing it, it was simply trying to get away, and in the huge forest that didn't seem impossible at all.

He caught sight of the shadow again, no more than fifty feet ahead of him, but those fifty feet seemed hopelessly far away. Tony's breath was labored and he cursed the cold – he was usually a good runner, despite his plague scarred lungs.

He heard another gun shot, but didn't feel it anywhere close, and assumed that it had gone wild. A third gun shot rang out a moment later, and Tony crouched down and ran, head low.

Other shots rang out and Tony was fairly certain they came from behind him. Ziva and the police must be following him and—

The ground disappeared from under his feet.

Leaves and mud followed him as he fell, his hands clawing uselessly in empty air, trying to stop his rapid descent. It felt like an eternity of fear in complete darkness, a knowledge of certain death, a moment stretching out into infinity.

The water was a shock to his system. It felt like ice against his skin, freezing cold, like a locker around him, impossible to get out. Automatically, he tried to breathe, only to fill his mouth with dirty, ice cold water. It paralyzed him, his body not responding, cold blackness all around him.

He kicked, and broke the surface, coughing and spitting, and he could only yell, "ZIVA!"

Then he went under once more.

--


	3. Chapter three

--

**Chapter three**

--

She had never heard such a sound before. Feral, that was how she would describe it later on, when life was no longer seconds away from turning into death.

She had seen Tony fall and knew where the ground stopped and became a cliff, plunging at a ninety degree angle down into black waters. Her heart nearly stopped as he disappeared.

"Tony!" she yelled, although she knew it would not help.

She ran down the hill, by the side of the water; her pace was only slightly faster than the river's. It looked cold and black like the sky above them. She saw Tony come up for air, and for a moment there was relief.

"ZIVA!" she heard him scream, his voice filled with fear. It made Ziva's blood run cold. Then he disappeared beneath the surface once more and she ran even faster.

When she was ahead of Tony – she could see his back every now and then, his head bobbing up, lifeless – Ziva jumped in. The water felt like ice, but she did not care. Her training had forced her to face worse challenges than this – but never had the life of a friend depended so much on her when she had been training.

She swam against the current, legs kicking strongly. Here and there, she could feel the ground beneath her feet, and she used it to kick forward. But mostly she suspected that Tony was moving towards her, rather than she towards him.

She caught hold of his jacket, pulling him up to the surface. The moonlight made him look like a ghost and his head lolled to the side, unconscious. His lips were blue; he wasn't breathing.

"Come on, Tony," she said, pulling him along as she tried to get back to the shore.

There, the police officers were waiting, and they helped her get him out of the water.

"CPR, now!" she said between labored breaths, coughing when a splash of cold water entered her mouth. "Call—ambulance!"

When she got out, two of the policemen dragging her by her arms, the others were already doing heart compressions and breathing air into Tony's lifeless body. She sat on her knees, the icy wind make her clothes even colder, but nothing made her soul freeze as the sight of her friend, her _best_ friend, laying completely motionless on the ground.

He coughed suddenly, and the female officer who had given him mouth to mouth helped him turn on his side. Water escaped his mouth as he gagged in a wet, horrid cough. His wheezing breathing as he tried to get enough air back into his lungs made her realize with sudden clarity that even though he was breathing now, he was far from out of the woods.

"Did you—catch—?"

Tony's words were mere hisses on painful breaths.

"Do not worry about that now," Ziva said, crawling up beside him. "And if you say you are fine now, I will slap you."

"Only Gibbs," Tony wheezed.

"Yes, but I will make an exception," Ziva said, his cold hand between hers.

"Was only out—night swim—you know," Tony said.

"Shh," Ziva said.

"You know, this is—like in the movie—Titanic," Tony said, his teeth clattering and his voice barely carrying, each word interrupted by his shaking body, "when R-Rose and Jack—and she's on the d-door—and he's so cold—"

Despite it all, a dry laugh, heavy with choked back tears that she would never, ever allow to fall, escaped her.

--

A helicopter located them, although by that time, Ziva was shivering so badly she could no longer speak. Tony had fallen silent, which worried her more than she wanted to admit, but she could not see him; one of the police officers had taken the place by Ziva's side, trying to keep her warm with body heat. Two of the others were doing the same with Tony, she knew. They had peeled the wet clothes off both her and Tony – he had made some barely audible joke about his state of undress that they could not quite make out because his teeth had clattered so badly – and placed dry clothes on them, wrapping them up in every blanket they could find. Even so, the cold of the night seemed to make it impossible to get warm.

The medical personnel aboard the helicopter placed Tony on a gurney with more blankets and warm bottles of water at his sides. A few minutes later, she got the same treatment. The blanket, which was warm to the touch, was tucked tightly around her. It felt like it scalded her frozen skin.

She let her head fall to the side and saw them place an IV in Tony, and a mask over his face. She heard them talk about oxygen levels and wet sounds in his lungs.

"Plague," she said, and the medical personnel looked at her with wide eyes. "He had—the Plague."

They nodded, and her work was done, for now.

Soon enough, the warmth of the water bottles and the warming blanket began to get to her, and she was told to rest. For once in her life, she did just that; she closed her eyes and allowed someone else to take charge.

--

"Jethro, please – they won't be quicker because you wear a hole in their floor."

Gibbs stopped pacing for a moment, but then continued. The need to move around was incredible, as though a single second standing still would mean—something. He didn't know what, didn't want to think about what.

His mouth was dry, his heart speeding in his chest. The call had come half an hour earlier – two of his agents were being transported to Bethesda after falling into one of the rivers in the Black Ridge Woods National Park.

Tony had needed CPR.

Ducky watched him with worry, but Gibbs pointedly ignored it. Ducky ought to know the guilt he felt, and when Gibbs felt responsible, he could not simply ignore it.

"I shouldn't have let him go, Duck," Gibbs said, fresh blame crashing over him like a tidal wave.

"You couldn't have known—"

"He wasn't fine," Gibbs said. "He had a cold, and you know him and colds – they don't mix."

"I assumed he did – he didn't seem quite as alert when I last saw him," Ducky said. "But he simply refused to admit anything. And with his lungs—"

"He's already cheated death on enough occasions to last a lifetime," Gibbs said. "I shouldn't have let him go. I know better."

"You know that Tony is a very strong-willed young man, Jethro," Ducky said, standing up and placing a hand on Gibb's arm. "He wouldn't have accepted if you sent Ziva or Timothy in his place."

"I'm his boss," Gibbs said. "If I'd been serious, he'd've been forced to listen to me."

"And then he would have run off into danger in some other place," Ducky said. "Tony doesn't want to feel useless, least of all to you. If you'd stopped him from going to the national park, he'd have found something else to do – and I can assure you, it wouldn't have been staying at home in bed."

"I challenged him to go," Gibbs said.

Ducky sighed. "He wouldn't have listened, Jethro."

He sat down once more, probably knowing that when Gibbs didn't want to listen, he didn't. The feeling of guilt was at least a familiar feeling – guilt about a coworker, an employee, a team member. He should have kept Tony away from danger, away from cold rivers in the middle of the night. Tony shouldn't have been in the woods to begin with. Ziva could have handled it with the local police, or he could have sent McGee with her, and Tony could have been resting at home.

He kept pacing.

--

It would be another hour and a half before the helicopter reached Bethesda and its cargo was loaded off, still on gurneys. Ziva, who had fallen asleep on the ride over despite the noise, looked around groggily when they landed. To her right, she saw Tony, eyes closed, a mask over his face and the IV-drip in his arm, lying beneath a heap of blankets just as she was.

She heard the words hypothermia and possible pneumonia and a wave of fear passed through her. She had not been around when Tony caught the Plague, but she knew that his lungs had been scarred from it, and she could only imagine the kind of pressure pneumonia would put on those lungs.

They wheeled her into a room where she was hooked up to machines. She tried to tell the nurse that she was feeling pretty good, but the nurse shook her head.

"Doesn't matter, you're staying here overnight for observation," the nurse said. "You'll probably be discharged in the morning, though."

"What about Tony?"

"The man who was brought in with you?" the nurse asked. "He's in the ICU, but I really can't tell you more."

"I saved his life," Ziva said, with as much annoyance as she could muster. "I need to know. He is my partner."

She looked indecisive. "He's stable at the moment, but we need to get his temperature up. There's some fluid in his lungs and we fear he will develop pneumonia. Apparently his lungs aren't in the best condition—"

"He had the Plague a few years ago," Ziva said quietly.

"The _Plague_?" the nurse said, eyes wide.

Ziva simply nodded, unwilling to continue. She allowed her eyelids to fall shut long enough for the nurse to leave. Then she lay staring into the darkness, her eyes burning despite her inability to cry. It had been a long time since she cried.

--

There were monitors everywhere, noting everything Tony's body did. There was the blood pressure and the oxygen levels, the steady beep of his heartbeat. Doctors and nurses passed Gibbs, spoke to him, had him nod and sign the papers, because Gibbs was Tony's medical proxy.

All the while, Gibbs simply stared at the motionless form of his most energetic agent. It seemed so unnatural for him to be so still. It was not the first time Gibbs had seen him this way, but it always seemed _wrong_. Tony had already been lucky – with the Y. Pestis, but also with getting shot at and getting abducted and every other kind of danger Tony had been in – and Gibbs couldn't help but fear that his luck would now be running out.

His heart constricted at the thought.

Tony was covered from neck to toe in an electric blanket, which was warm to the touch, and a cap on his head. They needed to get his temperature up, they told Gibbs, and he nodded. They said he might develop pneumonia, and that Dr. Brad Pitt had been called in as a specialist on Tony's damaged lungs. There had been water in those lungs; Tony had breathed in water while in the river.

Gibbs didn't know what to do with himself. His earlier pacing had been replaced by slumping into the chair at Tony's bedside, even though a marine never slumped. The guilt weighed him down, resting heavily on his shoulders. He shouldn't have sent Tony out into the woods, not when he knew that Tony was unwell.

"Did he have a cold before?" the doctor had asked him and Gibbs had nodded. "Well, that explains why he is in such a bad shape now. Running out in the icy woods isn't exactly the healthiest thing to do for any person with a cold, least of all one with his lungs."

It seemed as though even if Tony had not taken a midnight swim in the river, he might still have needed hospital care, simply because Gibbs had sent him out into the national park.

Layers upon layers of self-loathing descended upon him.

The only other people he could also blame for sending Tony into the woods were Mrs. Annie Reed and Mr. Jason Rosenberg. She had made the call, she had begged for help, and he was probably the man she had been afraid of – they were responsible for the case they had to begin with.

He would find them.

--

"We normally do an X-ray, but with the considerable damage the plague did to his lungs it would be misleading," the doctor said. "We did a chest CT instead and I'm afraid things aren't looking too good for Agent DiNozzo. The blood work shows an elevated white blood cell count, which indicates an infection, especially with the fever he's experiencing. I'm afraid he's developing pneumonia."

Gibbs hands clenched together, nails digging into the palm of his hand.

"What are his chances?" he asked, his voice calmer than he really felt.

"It depends on the kind of pneumonia," the doctor said. "We're hoping it's a bacterial pneumonia, the most common of which is the Streptococcus pneumoniae, and we've started him on antibiotics. We're also giving him extra oxygen."

"Intubated?" Ducky asked.

"Not yet," the doctor replied, "but we may have to. I won't lie to you, Doctor Mallard – he is in a very bad shape."

Ducky nodded. "Is he conscious?"

"On and off," said the doctor. "We'll be moving him to a clean room to avoid any more stress to his system, and you'll be required to follow the cleaning procedures we have if you want to visit him. You will be allowed to stay with him, if you are declared healthy and given, of course, that you don't upset him."

Ducky nodded and took Gibbs, who stared beyond the doctor at Tony, laying still on the hospital bed, pale as the sheets he was surrounded by, by the arm. The doctor left them, hurrying off to other patients.

The nurses came a few minutes later and moved Tony to the clean room. He looked worse with every second that passed, Gibbs thought – now his skin was shining with sweat and there was a blue tint to it.

"Jethro, what do you want to do?"

Ducky looked at him, and Gibbs wondered the same thing himself. What did he want to do? He wanted to find Reed and make her pay for what she had done to Tony. At the same time, he didn't want to leave the hospital, did not want to leave Tony's side. What if he—

Ducky's face was sympathetic. "I understand that this is difficult."

"He's already been through this once, Duck," Gibbs said.

"I know," Ducky said. "But you have to have faith in him. Anthony is one the most stubborn people I've ever met – aside from you. If anyone can beat this, it's him."

Gibbs knew Ducky was trying to make him feel better, but he wanted to snap at him anyway. He wanted to blame someone, to get back, to hurt someone as much as they had hurt Tony.

And at once, Gibbs knew that he could not stay at the hospital.

"Don't leave him," he said to Ducky, who nodded with a kind, soft smile.

Gibbs strode towards the door, a man with a mission.

--

Ziva had received Gibbs' message about half an hour before she was finally discharged, after arguing with the doctor and signing a paper that she did so against the doctor's recommendations. She felt fine. She hardly ever got sick, but she distinctly remembered the feeling of fever, even though it had been nearly a decade since she had last had it. She did not have a fever now.

She strode into the bullpen, knowing that although she did not feel sick, she must look like crap, because she had hardly slept all night, worry about Tony filling her mind. Every time a nurse or doctor came into her room, she feared that they would tell her that Tony had passed away, that she had not been fast enough.

When she turned the corner to her desk, Ziva was suddenly enveloped in a hug. She caught a glimpse of black hair in ponytails.

"Abby, I am fine," she said.

Abby looked as distressed as she always was when someone on Gibbs' team was in danger. She moved around even more than she usually did, hands flying this way and that, and Ziva had to remind herself not to snap at the girl, who could seem so very young at times. Ziva herself had never understood the point of panicking the way Abby did.

"Are you? Are you sure?" Abby asked. "Because Gibbs told me that you saved Tony from the river and I know that the water is really cold at this time of the year and you could've gone into shock and Tony, he's—they think he has pneumonia, do you know how bad that is with his lungs, oh God, I have to get over there, I mean, I was going, but then Gibbs told me that he needed me here—"

Ziva took Abby's hands in her own. "Abby. Calm down."

She knew that Abby would see her as cold and unfeeling once again, but she was used to other people having that image of her and it was something she lived with, rarely giving it a second thought. It was simply her way of coping. Abby needed to calm down to be of any use to them.

"Ziva," McGee said, "you okay?"

Abby had blocked her view of McGee's desk, but now he stood beside her, brow wrinkled with worry.

Ziva smiled slightly. "I am fine. I'm not the one we should be worrying about."

McGee's face fell at the thought of Tony. Ziva knew that as awful as it was for her, this was at least the first time she lived through it – for the rest of the team, this was the second time Tony was in the hospital with a life-threatening illness.

Abby turned to McGee and hugged him. He held on, and Ziva watched with the smallest of smiles.

Gibbs came down the stairs, carrying a coffee in his hand. His face was set in a grim expression, and only little hints – like lines of worry creasing his face – told Ziva that he too was afraid for Tony. She wondered if he felt as guilty as she did – she had known that Tony had a cold even though he refused to admit it, and Gibbs must have realized it too. Tony should not have been out in the national park with her.

"We're going to catch the bastards who did this to Tony," Gibbs said. "We're not stopping until they're in custody, or on the tables down in autopsy."

"But are both bad?" Abby asked. "I mean, Reed called Tony—"

"All I know is that someone was shooting at us," Ziva said. "I guess the first shot was aimed at Tony, and I don't know how close it was, but the shots fired when we were running were not fired by a first-time shooter. Officer Johnson took one bullet in his vest – if he hadn't been wearing it, he would have been killed."

"Get that vest in here," Gibbs said. "Abby, analyze the bullet so that we can match it to Reed's or Rosenberg's gun when we find them."

"Annie Reed has no record of ever owning or training with a gun," McGee said, having returned to his computer. "She could've bought a gun illegally, but she would still've had to train somewhere to be that good a shot."

"What about Rosenberg?" Gibbs asked.

"No military training," McGee said, looking through the records of Jason Rosenberg. "This guy hasn't done much at all."

Abby frowned at this. She cocked her head to the side. "You know, that's what I thought when I was looking at his profile. There wasn't much to him. Just his school records, driver's license and dentals, and pretty much nothing else."

She motioned for McGee to move, and he did.

"He has several aliases," Abby said. "Most of them, like his Jake Davis identity, are pretty badly executed – if the bank had really looked, they could probably have busted him on it. But there's one identity – Marcus Williams – which is a lot more detailed, with dentals and all that too. It has a whole different set of schools, and if I remember correctly—"

She trailed off, and then, after a few clicks, a record came up on the big screen.

"Marcus Williams is a trained military sniper, who quit five years ago and disappeared off the radar," Abby said.

"Why would anyone create a fake identity with that kind of information," McGee said, "unless it's not actually the real identity, while the Rosenberg one is a fake?"

"So Rosenberg, Williams, whatever, and Reed are working together?" Abby asked.

"Tony said that she sounded scared," McGee said, "and that she was asking for help. Rosenberg/Williams might have kidnapped her."

"She must have known that we could trace the call," Ziva said.

"Tony said they got disconnected," McGee said. "She might've said more if it hadn't been."

Gibbs looked at the picture of Rosenberg/Williams. "He's out there, with her in one way or another."

"Are we going back out?" Ziva asked.

"I am," Gibbs said. "You're staying here – I'm not making the same mistake twice."

She realized then that he did feel guilty about Tony, just as she did. He had just admitted that sending Tony out into the national park had been a grave mistake.

"How are you going to find them?" McGee asked.

"She wants to be found," Gibbs said. "She must have left a trace."

"He might have realized, though," McGee said.

Gibbs did not respond, but stared at the image of Rosenberg/Williams. Ziva wondered what it would be like to have Gibbs stare at her that way – she suspected it would feel rather like looking into the eyes of her own death. Gibbs had been angry at times with her, and with the other members of the team, but he was never furious at them in this murderous way. She wondered if it was because it was Tony – because she had always had the feeling that he was a bit special to Gibbs – or if he would react the same way no matter who it was.

"Give me the location of where DiNozzo fell into the river," Gibbs said. "I'll start there."

"Boss, I want to come with you." Ziva was surprised to hear McGee say the words, but then again no, she wasn't – McGee would do almost anything to protect the team, just as the others would.

"Me too," Ziva said.

She wasn't sick, and with every second that passed grew the urge to find the people responsible for putting Tony in the hospital. She wanted to blame someone, anyone, but herself.

Gibbs regarded her silently, gauging how healthy she was, and then gave a short nod.

The three headed towards the door.

--

Ducky sat beside him when he woke up. Tony sat in a swirl of colors, demons playing next to him, and when Ducky spoke, his voice was distorted.

"My boy," Tony heard, but then Ducky's mouth kept moving and Tony's brain could not make out the words.

He was cold, oh so cold, and he shivered with it. His body felt like it was made of lead, and suddenly, he was back under water, struggling to get back to the surface, a losing battle when his body weighed tons. He fought against the currents, swirling around him, taunting him, stealing his breath and his air and he could not breathe.

"Fever," he heard, perhaps a familiar voice, perhaps not, he could not decide.

He hurt, his chest and his arms and his legs and his head. There were spikes being pushed through his body with every breath he took, the angry hot pokers that seared his soul.

This was not life, this was death, coming to claim him. He could not get air into his lungs; there was nothing left for him.

Faces danced before his eyes, Ziva's arms reaching for him, not long enough, not strong enough, and he was pulled down again, further and further into a black hole. He saw Gibbs, and he asked if he was okay, and Tony tried to reply, tried to say that no, no, he wasn't, he was drowning, could he not see that? The figures, his friends, his loved ones, looked down at him as the black hole pulled him down, pulled him closer to death, and Gibbs simply smiled at him, that smile that he hardly ever gave anyone other than Abby, that smile that Tony longed for—

Tony gasped for air, but none came into his lungs, and then he knew no more.

--


	4. Chapter four

--

**Chapter four**

--

"He's on a ventilator."

Ducky's words echoed between them, the car filling with the words, deafening in the silence. Gibbs drove even faster than usual, the surroundings becoming a blur outside the window. His face was set, white, his thoughts traveling dangerously away from his driving, to Tony.

"They've confirmed the pneumonia," Ducky said. "They're not giving him great odds."

"He's not going to die," Gibbs snapped, shutting the phone, unable to hear more but at the same time instantly regretting it – he wanted to know more about Tony, wanted to hear every detail.

Gibbs wondered if he was doing the wrong thing in chasing after the bad guys. Perhaps he was. Time was precious, and perhaps he ought to be spending it by Tony's side, saying the things he should have said long ago. But he couldn't just sit there, couldn't sit still beside Tony and wait to see if he would live or die. He had to _do_ something, lest he go crazy.

Civilization turned into the national park, trees and green bushes everywhere, stretching out before them, beautiful in the early morning, had they only taken the time to look. They didn't, their minds set on their task at hand.

Abby supplied them with the coordinates for where the ambulance helicopter had found them and picked them up; a clearing right next to the river.

"They also found Rosenberg's car," Abby said. "It was abandoned at one of the roads leading into the national park. They're bringing it to me now, but they've already found bloody clothes in the trunk."

"Male or female?" Gibbs asked.

"Male," Abby said.

Gibbs hung up and kept walking, Ziva beside him and McGee behind him. It took them two hours to reach the spot where the helicopter had collected Ziva and Tony.

Gibbs stared at the cliff over which Tony had fallen. It was easily a thirty foot drop. The water flowed beneath it, not quite rushing down but at the same time far from calm. It was deep in places and shallow in others, and a part of Gibbs knew Tony had been lucky to land in a deep section – he would likely have died if he had struck a shallow point, with rocks sticking up here and there. Not that he might not die anyway.

"The last shot came from over there," Ziva said, pointing to Gibb's right. "I did not see anyone when I reached the cliff – perhaps they crossed the river, but it was dark."

"I would've crossed the river," Gibbs said. "It leaves no traces."

"Boss!" called McGee from his point a bit higher up on the cliff. "There's blood here."

Gibbs hurried up, Ziva running behind him.

The blood had splattered in a way that Gibbs recognized as consistent with a gunshot, possibly to the leg.

"Might be animal blood," Ziva said.

"Or maybe one of you hit the bastard last night," Gibbs said. "You did shoot at them?"

"Yes," Ziva said. "Two of the officers had some sort of night-vision aids. When I spoke to them afterwards – when we were trying to get warm – they said they thought they had heard screaming, but were unsure. It was a bit chaotic."

Gibbs nodded. "McGee, bag it."

As they stumbled down the side of the cliff, Gibbs' imagination ran wild as he saw the night before in his mind's eye; Ziva running down the side of the mountain, Tony gasping for air, coughing as he broke the surface, his clothes soaked, his body already ill and freezing—

They found traces of blood on the ground, the leaves barely moved since the night before, except where Ziva had ran down the hillside. The others hadn't been up on the cliff at all, but had trekked through the trees straight to the point where Ziva had gone into the water.

Gibbs caught Ziva staring at the clearing where the helicopter had picked them up. Suddenly feeling the need to tell her she had done well, perhaps mostly because he knew that it might be too late for him to tell Tony the same thing – his heart tightened painfully at the thought – he placed a hand on her shoulder.

She looked at him, dark eyes warm but hurting. They didn't need words.

"The blood trail ends here," McGee said, looking across the river. He was a bit further down than Ziva and Gibbs, and Gibbs noted that the water looked shallower there.

"They probably walked for a while in the water," Gibbs said.

"How far would he be able to walk if he'd been shot?" McGee asked, sounding rather doubtful.

"We are assuming it is Rosenberg that was hit," Ziva said. "It could be the woman."

"Reed?" McGee asked. "If she's not here by her own free will, it seems like a leap to think that Rosenberg would bring her when he came to shoot at you."

"We do not know if she is here by her own free will or not," Ziva said.

"She made the phone call," McGee said. He sighed, and asked again, "How far would he _or she_ be able to walk with a gunshot wound?"

"It depends on where he was shot," Ziva said. "The blood loss indicates that he was not hit in any major artery."

"You'd be surprised with what people can survive with and walk around with," Gibbs said, and he tried not to let his mind return to Tony and the scarred lungs he worked with every day. Gibbs had failed to protect him once – and this time, he had forced Tony out into the woods.

He could hear Ducky's calm voice in his head – _"You did not force him – he has a will of his own. Quite a strong one, too, just like someone else I know."_

"Both of you go over to the other side and find where the trace continues," Gibbs said. "I'll take this side."

They headed off, though McGee looked none too happy about having to wade in the cold water.

--

Abby's call was a welcome interruption as Gibbs made his way down the side of the river, eyes roaming for a hint of blood.

"I've been going over Rosenberg/Williams computer," she said, "and I found something."

"You wouldn't have called me otherwise, Abs," Gibbs said.

"Well, that's true," Abby said, pondering it for a moment. "Anyway. He has several email accounts."

"He has several identities, Abby," Gibbs said. "Why does it matter?"

"It matters," Abby said, "because he used them to try to get to Callahan. She kept blocking him, but he added her with new addresses. He sounds insane, Gibbs! He wanted her to leave her husband and run away with him."

"Was this before or after he conned money off her?" Gibbs asked.

"After," Abby said, "like, just three weeks ago. They hadn't been chatting in over four months. But all of a sudden, he was back, and he wanted her, and he wouldn't take no for an answer. He's threatening to kill her and everything."

"But what does Reed have to do with it?" Gibbs asked.

"As far as I can see, nothing," Abby said. "She might've just been at the wrong place at the wrong time. They were friends, she happened to be there—"

Gibbs nodded to himself. "Thanks, Abs."

Thoughtfully, he kept searching for the blood trail's continuation.

A good hour and a half had passed when McGee's voice traveled over the radio.

"I think I've got it, boss," said the raspy, static voice.

"Where are you?" Gibbs asked, not bothering to ask if McGee was certain. He would not have said anything unless he had been fairly convinced that the blood was human and fresh, the pattern of the blood consistent with dripping down a leg or arm. Gibbs assumed the injury was in a leg or arm, because in the head, they would have found a body long ago, and in the upper body, he – or she – would not have made it that far.

"Five minutes into the woods from the river," McGee replied, "Ziva, you can just head straight into the woods and you'll be coming towards me."

Ziva had taken the land right by the river while McGee had covered the land a bit further away from it. Ziva waited as Gibbs crossed the river. He tried not to think about just how cold it was, even when he barely stepped in it. His thoughts traveled straight back to Tony.

McGee stood bent over the blood trace he had found, and Gibbs had to agree – it looked like the same kind of dripping that they had found on the other side of the river. It would not surprise Gibbs if the wound had stopped bleeding so much, temporarily, when it had been submerged in cold water for the ten minutes it must have taken to trek to this point.

"It continues over here," McGee said. "They didn't bother covering it up."

"They were too busy getting away," Gibbs said. "They had no way of knowing if Tony was seriously injured or not, and I'm sure they were even more anxious when they heard the helicopter approaching."

"And there's this too," McGee said, pointing at a golden bracelet with tiny charms hanging off it.

"Reed's?" asked Ziva.

"If it's not, then it's a kinda odd coincidence that it's just two feet away from the blood trail," McGee said.

The three continued deeper into the woods, following the trail. It grew easier and easier to spot; the person bleeding must have been moving slower. Here and there, they found more signs of a female – an unused tampon in its plastic casing that had been dropped, a silver earring and a red lipstick.

They found a small clearing where burnt wood told them that someone had started a fire there not long ago. There was a pool of blood soaking the leaves on the ground, and the soil was wet, despite there having been no rain in several days, and the surrounding dirt being dry.

"He – or they – must have stopped here for a while," Ziva said. "Perhaps she was waiting for him here."

"If she wasn't here of her own free will, why would she wait for him?" McGee asked.

"Because she does not know how to survive out here long enough to find her way out," Ziva said. "He could be her captor, but also her only way out."

"Or she's with him," McGee said.

"We don't assume anything," Gibbs said. "If we find either, we treat them as guilty until proven otherwise."

McGee and Ziva both nodded.

"With this much blood loss, one of them will be less dangerous, at least," Ziva said.

Then a shot rang out, and she stumbled back, her hand going instinctively to her shoulder. She didn't scream, but she lay writhing on the ground.

Gibbs had his gun out before McGee even had time to realize what was happening. Gibbs eyes searched the area quickly, gauging the location where the shooter must be hiding to be able to hit Ziva the way she had.

"Hide her," Gibbs growled to McGee, who reacted instantly and dragged Ziva away, half-carrying her.

Gibbs moved into the bushes too, where he knew it was less likely the shooter would see him. He moved with the stealth one acquires after years of sniper training, with no sound as his feet moved over the ground, eyes trained steadily on the spot where he knew the shooter sat. There had been no rustling of the leaves, no sign of him moving. Gibbs reminded himself that the guy had been a military sniper, that he had the same training as he did, and he might be as good at sneaking quietly as he was.

Never underestimate your opponent, Gibbs reminded himself.

He sneaked around in an extended circle, hoping to catch the guy from behind.

"No, you don't, Mister Agent," said a male behind him, and he felt the barrel of a gun in his back.

Gibbs had faced life or death situations before, but there had only been a few occasions when he had wanted so badly to maim and kill the perpetrator. His wife and daughter's killer was one of them; the CEO who had poisoned Tony was another. Now he felt the same urge returning, increasing tenfold as he thought of his sick senior field agent in Bethesda, fear and worry making him see red with fury.

He kicked back, his boot-clad foot connecting with the man's lower leg, and he was awarded with a howl of pain. A shot rang off, going wild, not even close to Gibbs, who turned and fired his own gun twice on the perpetrator – once in his shoulder, the other one in his thigh.

He would not allow this bastard to die out here; it was far too painless.

"Marcus Williams, I presume," Gibbs growled at him. He turned the man over, ignoring the scream of pain that emerged from the man, and placed handcuffs around his wrists. "You are under arrest for the murder of Marie Callahan. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law—"

When he had finished reading the Miranda rights to the bastard, Gibbs left him. With his shoulder and thigh shot, one leg injured from Gibbs' kick and the other leg already holding one bullet from the night before – Gibbs saw the amateurish way it had been wrapped in what looked like a shirt – and his wrists handcuffed together, Marcus Williams wouldn't be going anywhere.

Ziva was pale when Gibbs found her and McGee sitting by a tree trunk behind a bush not far from where she had been shot.

"Did you catch him?" Ziva asked, wincing.

Gibbs nodded.

"I called 911," McGee said. "They're dispatching a helicopter. I think they were a bit surprised that we needed one twelve hours after the first one."

Ziva gave Gibbs a pained smile. "Did you find Reed?"

"No, but if the two of you just stay here – and McGee, I want you to keep that gun – I will go find her," Gibbs said.

Both his agents nodded. McGee's hand was pressing against Ziva's shoulder, her upper body resting against his as he leaned back against a tree trunk. She hissed every time he moved, but there seemed to be little Gibbs could do to help.

He walked past the spot where Rosenberg/Williams was lying, still writhing in pain. Gibbs held back a satisfied smile – Rosenberg's pain wouldn't lessen Tony's illness.

He found Reed about ten minutes later, hiding behind a bush. There were cuts and bruises on her face and her wrists were bound behind her back. Her clothes were torn and dirty, and they seemed far too light for the chilly weather. She shrank back when Gibbs approached and he knew that she had not gone into the national park by free will.

Gibbs approached with the care he would a wild animal.

"Mrs. Reed?" he asked.

She stared at him as though she did not believe her eyes.

"I'm Special Agent Gibbs of NCIS," Gibbs said, and he showed his badge to her. "I'm here to take you home."

Fifteen minutes later, when he heard the flapping of helicopter rotor blades, Gibbs led Annie Reed to the waiting medical personnel. They had already placed Ziva on a gurney and McGee had been seated next to her. Gibbs led two of the medics to Marcus Williams, and he didn't watch as they took care of him, refraining from telling them that they could be rough.

Someone else would have to retrieve his car, Gibbs thought as he sat down in the helicopter, to be taken to Bethesda.

Bile rose in his throat as he thought of Tony – what kind of news waited for him at the hospital?

--

Tony looked worse than he had three years ago, when the Y. Pestis had been running rampant in his body. Gibbs would have thought it impossible, but apparently it wasn't. Dark hollows around his eyes and his skin tinted blue, with a sheen of sweat from the raging fever. There was a tube down his throat, the ventilator, helping him breathe, making hissing sounds with each mechanical breath in and out.

Gibbs hardly dared to touch him. It seemed as though a simple squeeze of Tony's hand might break him, send him over the edge, kill him. It was already Gibbs' fault that Tony was in the hospital – he didn't want to be the final weight that did him in.

"You may touch him, you know," Ducky said over the speakers. He stood outside the large windows that separated the clean room from the rest of the hospital.

Gibbs did not look at him, but nodded, a short, curt nod.

"I will be staying with Ziva," Ducky said. "They told me it was a through-and-through, but there was some blood loss and they'll be keeping her overnight, to see that it doesn't get infected or cause any other trouble."

"See to it that she stays," Gibbs said, his voice rough. "She might want to discharge herself."

"I will," Ducky said.

He left, and Gibbs stood alone with Tony, both bathed in the blue light of the lamps overhead. Gibbs hated those blue lamps with a passion; they had never meant anything good for him, and even less so for Tony.

He reached out and hesitantly took Tony's hand in both his own. This time, a head slap wouldn't help, and a new phone wouldn't be appreciated. Tony was unconscious, although Gibbs didn't remember whether that was because of the illness or because the doctors had drugged him up, and it didn't matter much to him. All it meant was that Tony's hand was limp and heavy as he picked it up.

Gibbs squeezed Tony's hand nonetheless, carefully, afraid to break him. It felt so wrong – Tony wasn't supposed to be like this. Gibbs had never known anyone else who was so full of life. Tony radiated energy, usually with that gorgeous smile of his, lighting up the day even though Gibbs pretended not to notice.

He wondered just when he had fallen – when had that beaming face, those silly movie references, and the exciting darkness that Tony had just beyond the façade he put up, become what Gibbs looked forward to meeting every morning?

What would Gibbs do without him?

He pulled a chair up to the bed. It was metallic, unlike the wooden chairs in the regular rooms, probably because they were easier to keep clean. Gibbs had been forced to shower and change in the adjacent changing room, and he wore thin blue clothes supplied by the hospital that felt more like plastic than cloth. They weren't for his protection, but for Tony's.

He thought about Rosenberg/Williams, who was in the same hospital, chained to a bed, with a police officer standing guard by the door. Gibbs had yet to go down there; he feared he would kill the bastard if he saw him. He had shot at two of his agents – hitting one – and he was the reason why Tony had fallen off the cliff. He deserved nothing less than torture.

The bullets Gibbs had put in his shoulder and leg should provide some pain, although Gibbs felt like he could have kept going for a while longer, especially after seeing Tony.

"We got him at least," Gibbs muttered. "He shot Ziva – but don't worry about her, she's tough."

He fell silent, feeling silly about talking to someone who couldn't hear him. Then again, perhaps that was the best time to talk – he could say the things he would never say if Tony was awake.

There were a lot of things to say.

--

Tony hurt.

He floated in a feverish haze, colors swirling around him, mixing and mismatching, his body angry red and burning. It felt as though he was submerged under water; he couldn't breathe. There was darkness beyond the colors, and it pulled at him, the pain lessening when he floated there.

But on the other side was light – hurting light, but light nonetheless, white hot pain that he did not want to go near, and yet it beckoned him. Amidst the pain was comfort, warmth that did not hurt. A voice, speaking to him, low words mumbled to him, sending warm pulses through him, taking away some of the aches. He knew that voice, knew who was speaking, and he wanted to go there, to give comfort back, but he couldn't make himself. It was like a wall, stopping him from returning to his own body.

It didn't matter. He listened to the words without understanding them, hearing only their tones and the soothing they brought. He knew the words were good, that the person who spoke was good. Someone to trust, someone to stay for. Someone who was worth all the pain.

--

Tim didn't quite know what to do with himself. He sat by Ziva's bed – she had finally fallen asleep, after the doctor prescribed her a light sedative to keep her from getting out of bed and running over to Tony's room. The doctor had told her that she shouldn't be aggravating her injury, which had been sewn up and wrapped up in gauze. There had been some tearing of the muscle, and she would likely need physical therapy, but she had been very lucky. A little further down to the right, and she would have been history.

Tim who, unlike his teammates, had managed to avoid injuries in the last twenty-four hours, sat indecisively and watched Ziva sleep. Should he go see Tony? Would Tony want him there? Would it matter what Tony wanted – Ducky had said that he had been sedated, too. Did Tim want to see Tony that way?

He remembered, far too vividly, what Tony had looked like the last time, when he had had the pneumonic plague. He had been to Bethesda only a few times, because he could not stand seeing Tony so sick. Tony hadn't noticed much; he had mostly slept and coughed. He had lost weight in those weeks – unsurprisingly, considering that Tim had not seen Tony eat once in the time he had been in Bethesda.

Once he came back, Tony had looked like the living dead – and then he had proceeded to save Tim's life by nearly getting blown up. That had scared Tim; both a fear for his own life, and Tony's. He had kept Tony on a slight pedestal, not nearly as far up as Gibbs, but still – he had not thought Tony to be mortal. Those weeks around Kate's death had been a wakeup call for such thoughts.

Perhaps he should go take Annie Reed's statement. She should be patched up by now, at least enough to talk to an agent such as himself.

He stood, satisfied with having come up with something to do that did not involve thinking of Tony.

Before he left, he bent forward and placed a kiss on Ziva's temple. He doubted she would ever allow him such a show of emotion when she was awake, which meant that he had to grab the opportunity when she was sedated.

--

Gibbs slept and stayed in the clean room for as much of the twenty-four hours of the day as the doctors would allow him, leaving only for food, which he couldn't bring into the clean room, and toilet breaks. The doctors had quickly learned that there was no point in trying to get him to leave at any other time.

When Ziva was discharged after a night's observation – Ducky told Gibbs she had only slept after sedatives had been administered – she was wheeled to Tony's room rather than the exit. Her arm was in a sling and she looked annoyed that she was being pushed around in a wheelchair.

The annoyance melted away from her face as soon as she saw Tony. Gibbs had to remind herself that she had not been around when Tony had first been sick – she had become a part of the team a couple of weeks later. She had not seen the damage the Plague had done then.

She was thoroughly cleaned, a nurse helping her redress the wound with fresh, sterile bandages.

"I did not think—" she started when the doors had closed behind her, "I did not imagine this."

"I don't think anyone can imagine this," Gibbs said. "Least of all twice."

"Was he like this the last time?" Ziva asked.

"They didn't have to intubate him," Gibbs said. "But yeah. It was like this."

He stood, offering his chair for her to sit and she did, looking pale and drawn. Her eyes traveled back and forth over Tony's still body, taking in the machines that Gibbs had been staring at for the last eighteen hours, since they had come to Bethesda.

"I shouldn't have made him take that watch," Ziva said. "I saw that he was unwell and I—"

"I was the one who made him go," Gibbs interrupted her.

She looked at him, and he saw guilt in her eyes, just as he assumed she saw guilt in his. He bore a heavier load of it, though – he was Tony's boss, and he had been around the last time. He should have known better.

"McGee spoke to Reed," Ziva said, her gaze still on Tony, as though expecting him to jump up and laugh and make some obscure film reference at any given moment.

"What did she say?"

"That Rosenberg is insane," Ziva said. "He killed Callahan because she wouldn't leave her husband for him, and when Reed happened to be there – she was coming to pick Callahan up for a three-day spa-trip, he then tried to frame Reed. He threatened her with a gun and told her to take the knife, otherwise she'd die too."

"He cut his hair to look different," Gibbs said, "and then decided he needed a hostage?"

"He hadn't planned on her being there when he killed Callahan," Ziva said, "But yes. Rosenberg got spooked when a car came around out front – we think it was the neighbor who came home – and he decided to take her along with him."

"Why the national park?" Gibbs asked, frowning.

"He wanted Reed to disappear, so that she would be blamed for Callahan's murder," Ziva said. "She thinks he was going to kill her in the woods so that her remains would not be found—"

She broke off suddenly, having caught the same change as Gibbs.

Tony was moving.

--


	5. Chapter five

--

**Chapter five**

--

"I ran away."

Annie Reed's hands were shaking, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"He didn't expect me to fight back," she said. "He thought I'd just go along. He—he had a gun—and he shot at me—I don't know how he could miss, I think he was distracted—I just ran. But we were in the middle of a national park and I don't know anything about surviving in the wild. I hid—I think it was for hours."

"And the phone call to NCIS?"

McGee tried his best to look honest and trustworthy.

"My—my husband," Reed said. "He told me to call an agent called Anthony DiNozzo at NCIS if I ever got in trouble. One of my husband's friends—you helped him once, and he'd liked Agent DiNozzo—my husband just told me Agent DiNozzo's name—easy to remember, or something, I guess. I just—I didn't think much. But he heard me when I talked—he found me—and he hit me—and I thought he'd kill me then and there—and then he didn't and we were walking again—"

She was crying openly now, remembering the horrific events.

"We just walked and walked—I don't know where he was going, but he didn't want us to stop—and then I heard someone—he heard too, and he bound me and he left and it was in the middle of the night and there were shots and then he came back and he—he was bleeding but he said we had to walk—and I don't know why he didn't kill me right there, perhaps he loved me a little still, he was a g-good guy, really, I know he was—"

McGee nodded. He knew the rest of the story; now it was just a matter of getting it on tape.

--

Tony's fingers searched for Gibbs' as the doctor pulled out the tube from his mouth. He coughed, a wet, unpleasant cough that didn't sound good at all. A light spray of blood stained the sheets with every cough and a nurse dabbed Tony's mouth with a napkin.

Gibbs was beside him, holding him up in a sitting position, gently stroking his back. He tried to ignore how each hacking cough felt like a stab to his heart.

"Easy," he said as Tony struggled for breath.

Tony leaned back, into Gibbs' embrace, and Gibbs ignored the world around them in favor of simply holding onto Tony. There was nothing more important in the world than Tony; perhaps this was the time to show that.

"Boss," Tony wheezed.

"No talking," Gibbs said. "That's an order."

Tony nodded weakly against Gibbs' chest. A nurse held a cup of water with a straw to Tony's lips and told him to drink slowly. Tony took a few sips, coming up for air between each of them. His breathing was labored, wheezing painfully.

Tony's hands fumbled for Gibbs', and Gibbs wondered how aware Tony was. The fever was still at a hundred and four degrees, which meant he might still not understand what was going on, especially after being completely out of it for two days.

Gibbs still hoped that Tony knew what he was doing.

"Hurts," Tony whispered, coughing immediately.

"I told you not to talk," Gibbs said. He ran his fingers through Tony's damp hair, gently massaging, hoping it might calm Tony.

Tony didn't respond. His body relaxed against Gibbs, his breathing evening out slightly into longer wheezes as he fell asleep. A nurse placed an oxygen mask over Tony's face, and Gibbs simply sat back, Tony resting against him.

--

Ziva stared through the window at Rosenberg/Williams. The man, with dark hair cut short, was undoubtedly handsome. A strong jaw and straight nose, high cheekbones and what looked like a good body.

Ziva wanted to go in and strangle him.

McGee came up behind her. "He won't be running around again any time soon."

"He will be in jail," Ziva said.

"Yeah," McGee said. "With a cane."

"Gibbs?" Ziva asked.

"No, it was the bullet he took when Tony—" he trailed off, unsure of what to say. "It was lodged in his leg. They couldn't repair all the damage."

"Good."

She knew that must have hurt like hell. The bullet he had shot her with had not stayed in her body and she would still require physical therapy to get well again. The wound ached dully, but at least it wasn't her right arm that had been affected.

"Tony?" she asked quietly.

"Sleeping," McGee said. "Gibbs is with him. I don't think he's left his side since we came back."

Ziva nodded, eyes still upon Rosenberg/Williams, the pain in her shoulder throbbing along with the anger and muted hatred she felt towards him, for the pain he had caused them. It was easier to blame him, than to blame herself, or Gibbs for that matter, even if Tony's illness was just as much their fault, if not more.

"Why was Reed's knife at Callahan's?" Ziva asked, distracting herself with the case they had almost put to rest.

"It was a sharp meat knife," McGee said. "According to Reed, she'd brought it over about two weeks earlier, because her knives were better than Callahan's. They cooked together sometimes."

There had been defensive wounds on Reed's body that correlated to the story she had told. Knife cuts on her forearms, because she had tried to stop him from killing Callahan, and various cuts and bruises as she had tried to defend herself from his onslaught of violence in the woods. The psychological aspect of her trauma would likely take much longer to heal, though, than the physical injuries.

"Her husband is coming back this week," McGee said. "I guess that'll be good for her."

Ziva nodded. She wondered, not for the first time, what it felt like to have a husband. Someone to love and trust and come home to at night. She was unsure about whether she wanted it or not – she had always been alone – but at times, she could think that it might be—nice.

McGee placed his hand on her good shoulder and squeezed lightly. "You okay?"

Ziva gave another small nod, and looked away from Rosenberg. She would not be thinking about him again.

She would be fine.

--

Gibbs had fallen asleep in his chair. Tony, who had been awake for a few minutes – as awake as he could be at the moment, with the coughing leaving him breathless and tired, the fever still refusing to release its grip on him – watched him with a small, fond smile beneath the oxygen mask.

He wouldn't have believed it if he had not seen it, but Gibbs had barely left his side in four days. He had sat by Tony's side, in that uncomfortable looking chair, and he had talked to Tony. Tony couldn't recall any occasion on which Gibbs had talked as much as he had in the last few days.

He had been told of the case and what had happened after he had been hospitalized. There had been the pang of horror when Gibbs had told him that Ziva had been shot, but then he remembered, still in a feverish daze, that he had seen Ziva, and though her arm had been in a sling, she had been very much alive.

Gibbs hadn't killed Rosenberg, although Tony could hear the hatred towards the man in Gibbs' voice. He suspected it had taken all of Gibbs' self-restraint not to put a bullet through Rosenberg's forehead.

"He won't walk again without a cane," Gibbs had said, eyes dark and expression like an oncoming storm.

Gibbs was obviously angry about Rosenberg – or Williams, as Gibbs had told Tony his real name was – having shot Ziva. He wondered if Gibbs would have been equally angry if Tony had been the one shot. Then again, he thought, his heart giving a little leap, Gibbs had sat by his side for days.

A sudden fit of coughs brought his line of thoughts to an abrupt end, and he hoped he would not wake Gibbs. He did; he felt Gibbs' strong embrace around him, getting him into an upright position where it didn't feel quite as much as though the phlegm would suffocate him. Warm fingers rubbed his back, and he sank back into Gibbs' arms, wishing not for the first time, that he could enjoy the feeling more.

"Easy," Gibbs said to him. "Want some water?"

Tony nodded, wanting the taste of blood out of his mouth. He didn't have to look at he napkin in Gibbs' hand to see that he had coughed up blood once more. The sheets would need to be changed again, although he didn't understand why they kept insisting, when it only took him half an hour to spew the fresh ones down with new blood.

Gibbs held a straw to his lips. Tony had gotten rather used to drinking out of straws again, just as he had the last time.

The last time.

This was worse than the last time. He would've thought that impossible without it bringing about certain death, but here he was. The doctors were fairly certain he would survive now, although they had already warned him that he would be staying in the hospital for weeks to come. Doctor Pitt had been there, and Tony had heard a worry in his voice when he had spoken. There was something they weren't telling him.

Gibbs settled against the bed, Tony cradled to his chest. Tony was surprised – Gibbs usually sat back down in his chair – but didn't protest, because why would he?

"You okay?" Gibbs asked.

Tony turned his head slightly to look at Gibbs and smiled slightly beneath he mask. "'m fine."

Gibbs gave a low, rumbling chuckle. "That, you are not."

"I will be," Tony mumbled.

Gibbs voice was soft when he answered. Tony imagined that Gibbs' hold on him tightened. "Yeah. You will be."

--

"Your fever is finally down," Doctor Pitt said.

"So I'm free to go?" Tony asked, giving his best 'I'll-be-a-good-boy' smile.

"Hardly," the doctor said. "You'll be staying here for at least another week, most likely two. The pneumonia isn't gone and you may need oxygen at any time. I'd lose my license if I let you go home right now."

Tony held back a sigh, knowing it would only lead to a coughing fit, which would in turn lead to proof as to why he should not be going home. Tony disliked such proof. Besides, he knew that despite his head being more than ready to leave, his body was not. It still felt as though it was lined with lead, and just sitting up was an ordeal that required help from a nurse, or Gibbs. He preferred Gibbs.

"Tony, I have some bad news," Doctor Pitt said. He looked at Gibbs, who sat beside Tony, listening intently. "Perhaps I should tell you in private."

Gibbs didn't look happy with the prospect of being left out.

Tony shook his head. "Gibbs can stay."

"Very well," Doctor Pitt said. "Tony, when I looked at your chest CT – it's not looking good. I'm not sure that you will be able to pass the requirements for active field duty."

Tony stared at him, but it was Gibbs who exploded. "_What_?"

"Special Agent Gibbs, please," Doctor Pitt said. "I can't be certain yet; there might be some improvement in the weeks to come. But the way it looks right now, I couldn't clear you for active duty."

"But—what am I—what—" Tony said softly, not believing what he was hearing. Without his job, without NCIS – where would he be? Without the team, without Gibbs – what would he do? He knew that if he couldn't be cleared for NCIS active duty, he wouldn't be able to get a job in law enforcement at all, other than as a paper-pusher. And Tony was no paper-pusher.

"Like I said, we'll have to wait and see," Doctor Pitt said. "I just thought you should be aware of the possibility; you might want to look at other jobs anyway."

"I don't want another job," Tony said, wanting to snap but knowing it would only bring about coughing.

Doctor Pitt nodded. "I'm sorry."

He left, leaving Tony staring at his retreating back. He couldn't bring himself to look at Gibbs – now he had truly failed. He would be of no use to Gibbs any more; he wouldn't be able to do his job. He would be forced to leave, forced to—he didn't know what he would be forced to do instead.

"I'm sorry, boss."

He caught Gibbs' sharp movement out of the corner of his eye. "_Sorry_? For what?"

"I obviously can't do anything right," Tony said. "I just—wanted to be a good agent. And now I can't even be that."

"You're not gone yet," Gibbs said, anger in his voice.

Of course he would be angry that he would lose his agent just because of said agent's stupidity.

Gibbs stood suddenly, and walked out of the room. Tony stared after him just as he had after Doctor Pitt, and fought the need to cry. He wished that Gibbs had stayed – he didn't need kind words or pity, but just company, from the man he loved the most.

Now he had really failed.

--

Shouting at Doctor Pitt hadn't helped. Gibbs hadn't really expected it to, although his threatening stance and harsh voice usually did the trick when he wanted something done. In this case, no one could do anything. Either Tony's lungs healed up on their own or they didn't; there was very little anybody could do about it, as Doctor Pitt calmly explained to him.

Gibbs stormed off again, a strong need to shoot something coming over him with the waves of rage at life's general unfairness, and at his own stupidity. It was his fault – Gibbs's fault that Tony might never be able to work as an agent again. Gibbs, who had knowingly forced him to go into the national park with a cold, despite knowing that it could be hazardous to Tony's health.

Gibbs remembered all the times when Tony had saved his life. _On your six, boss_. Tony had always had Gibbs' back. The most prominent memory was when he had gone under in the car with Maddie. Tony had been there, had saved his life, had literally breathed life into him again.

At least that time, he had forced Tony to come along to the hospital with him and Maddie, to get antibiotics and be kept under observation, so that his lungs weren't aggravated further.

But he knew he hadn't thanked Tony. A week after the rescue, things had been back to normal, and all Tony had gotten for his troubles was a head slap or two.

Gibbs knew he was a good team leader when it came to solving crimes, but he wondered, quite often lately, why Tony had stayed with him for as long as he had. It was nearing seven years now – seven rather wonderful years, in which Gibbs had only told Tony that he had done a good job on a handful occasions, and half of those had been with a joke coming soon after, with Tony as the butt of the joke.

"How is he?"

Abby woke him from his reverie. She had spent most of her free time at Bethesda, but as Gibbs' team was not the only one she worked with, she had had other things to do as well. There were shadows around her eyes, and he knew she had slept almost as little as he had.

"They don't know if he'll be able to be an agent anymore," Gibbs said.

"What?" Abby exclaimed, as horrified as Gibbs had been when he had heard the news. And for that matter, as horrified as he still was.

"His lungs are in a bad shape," Gibbs said.

"Oh Gibbs," Abby said, throwing her arms around him and hugging him, and he could feel her shaking. "But what will he do if he's not at NCIS? Oh, poor Tony – NCIS is his _life_. Did you talk to him? What did he say about it?"

_I'm sorry, boss. _

_I obviously can't do anything right. I just—wanted to be a good agent. And now I can't even be that._

Tony's words echoed through Gibbs' head. He hadn't really listened, he realized – why had Tony been apologizing? Why did he seem to think that he wasn't a good agent?

"Gibbs, what did you say to him?"

Abby was looking at him, rather accusingly, as though she could read his mind and had realized that he hadn't been the support he ought to have been. Tony didn't need his anger, nor did he need Gibbs yelling at the doctors, when there was nothing they could do.

"_Gibbs_," Abby said, with stern anger. "Please tell me you weren't an ass to him."

Gibbs gave her a look.

Exasperated, Abby threw her hands in the air. "Gibbs! He wants nothing but to be a good agent, _your_ good agent, and when he finds out that he might not be able to work as one at all, you don't think it's a good idea to be there for him?"

Abby had a way of making Gibbs feel very guilty, in a way that no one else managed. He imagined Kelly would have been like her.

Abby took him by the arm and led him towards Tony's clean room.

"Talk—to—him," she said, slowly, making Gibbs feel as though he were a child.

He sighed, knowing she was right. Could he do nothing but screw things up when it came to his personal life?

--

"Hi, Tony."

McGee's hesitant voice woke Tony from his slumber. He hadn't quite been asleep, but when each breath caused pain, there was little else to do, other than try to rest. At least his fever was down and he didn't cough up as much blood anymore. He knew it would freak McGee out if Tony stained his shirt with blood, and McGee looked worried enough as it was.

"Probie," Tony said, pulling the mask down so that McGee would be able to hear what he said, and not get the muffled version. "You come to say your goodbyes?"

McGee looked stricken, eyes widening. "I—I thought you were g-getting better."

Tony thought for a moment to tell McGee the latest news, but decided against it. He didn't need pity, least of all from McGee, who looked as though he had lost weight in the last week, and who had dark circles around his eyes.

"Relax, I am," Tony said. "Just messing with you, McProbie."

"Oh—oh, good," McGee said, coming closer to the bed. He frowned. "You look like crap."

Tony gave a weak smile. He hadn't seen his own reflection in over a week, but he didn't have to; he had a very good recollection of what he had looked like after the plague. He couldn't look all that much worse, lest he be dead.

"Yeah, well, hospitals do that to you," he said. "Did you bring me anything?"

He kept it light, wanted to talk about something, anything, other than the illness that still raged in his body. At least he could talk now; a few days ago, it had been impossible even to do that.

McGee took out two magazines from a plastic bag. Playboy and Esquire; the latest issues of both magazines. Tony wished the girls on the covers had any effect on him, but his tired body wouldn't be up to his usual antics for a good, long while. Besides, girls weren't really what was on his mind these days. Still, he very much appreciated the gesture from McGee.

"There are a couple of DVD's too," McGee said.

"What kind?" Tony asked, because he couldn't resist baiting McGee.

"Uh—um, not that kind, Tony," McGee said. "Just action and stuff. I didn't know what you'd want, so I got some of the latest releases."

"Thanks, Probie," Tony said, and motioned for McGee to put the plastic bag and its content on the table next to the bed. There were no flowers – they weren't allowed in a clean room – but several cards. The nurses had placed them nicely, so that each of them could be read from the bed if Tony just turned his head. There was one from Director Shepard, a huge teddy bear shaped one from Abby, and a dozen from other agents and workers at NCIS, most of them female.

McGee flashed him a worried look, realizing that the reason why Tony didn't take the magazines from McGee was that Tony was too weak to do so. Tony pretended not to notice the look, and hoped McGee was smart enough not to say anything about it.

"So—" McGee started, "you've got a sweet setup here. People bringing you food, cleaning your room."

"Yeah," Tony said. "It's just like a hotel, except with lots of needles."

McGee took a step back. "I—I'm sorry."

Tony sighed, and immediately regretted it when he coughed. His entire body tensed as he tried to breathe through it, the pain making him want to gasp but he knew, from painful experience, that that would only make it worse.

He felt Tim help him sit up, hands uncertain and distant unlike Gibbs' strong, safe embrace. Still, it helped, and Tim placed the oxygen mask over his face once more, and asked if he wanted water. Tony shook his head, and after a few moments, when Tony had regained his breath, Tim helped him lay down again.

Tony could sense McGee's eyes on him, and he kept his own closed, not wanting to see the pity. He hated feeling so helpless and weak, especially in front of his teammates. He was supposed to be strong and protect them, not cough each time he took a deep breath. He wasn't supposed to need help sitting up, or need a mask over his face to breathe.

"W-want to watch a movie?" McGee asked hesitantly.

Tony opened his eyes tiredly, and saw the nervous caring in McGee. He was only trying to do and say the right thing, never mind that such actions and words probably didn't exist. Perhaps a movie would be good. It wouldn't require talking from Tony, and it would be nice. Despite the hard words and silly jokes between them, Tony appreciated McGee's company.

He nodded, still unable to speak, and a ghost of a smile passed over his lips when he saw McGee's relief and brief happiness.

--

It had taken an hour of reckless driving and two cups of coffee to get Gibbs to a state that could almost pass for calm. He knew he couldn't return to Tony's room in a rage – it would undoubtedly lead to Tony getting upset, and that would lead to coughing and pain that Gibbs was already guilty enough of causing; he didn't need more guilt added.

McGee was slumbering in the uncomfortable metallic chair that Gibbs had spent so many hours in, and Tony was resting, oxygen mask on. The TV showed the DVD menu of a movie that Gibbs didn't recognize.

Gibbs regarded his two agents. McGee looked exhausted, and Gibbs was glad that he was getting some shuteye now, at least. The movie told Gibbs that McGee had been thoughtful enough to bring Tony something to do while confined to the bed, and that alone made him proud of his youngest agent. McGee might not be the killing machine that Ziva was, or have the same instincts as Tony, but he was a good agent and an asset to the team, caring about his teammates the way he did.

Gibbs placed a hand on McGee's shoulder, waking him.

"Oh—boss," McGee said, blinking rapidly. "I was just—"

"I'd like to talk to Tony."

McGee looked at him and then at Tony, as though he hadn't realized where he was.

"Oh, sure, yeah," he said, standing up. "I'll—uh—bye."

He walked out, the doors to the cleaning chamber closing behind him.

Gibbs eyes traveled to his sleeping agent on the bed. There was no doubt Tony was still very ill – the mask covering half his face was a give-away, of course, but also the dark circles around his eyes and the hollowness of his cheeks; he had lost weight since he came to the hospital. It was understandable, considering that he got all his nutrition from the IV:s he was hooked up to, and Gibbs doubted they contained as much calories as the hamburgers and pizzas Tony usually snacked on.

Still, despite the illness, he was a beautiful young man. Gibbs hated himself for thinking it, especially now. Tony didn't need that kind of thoughts, now less than ever.

Gibbs reached down and squeezed Tony's hand gently. He didn't do it to wake Tony; he simply wanted to touch him, to remind himself that Tony was still there, despite Gibbs' stupidity.

Tony stirred, head turning slightly and eyes focusing on Gibbs.

"Hey." His whisper was muffled by the mask and a weak hand came up to remove it.

Gibbs took the hand midair, and steered it back to its resting place. "Keep it on."

"You didn't kill the doctors, did you?" Tony asked sleepily. "They're just doing their job."

Gibbs heard the dejection in Tony's voice when he spoke. Gibbs wished he could tell Tony that things would be fine, that he'd get his job back and they would all live happily ever after. Unfortunately, he knew far too well that fairytale endings only existed in fairytales, and this was life. Their very, very real life.

"I didn't kill them," Gibbs said.

"But you ripped them a new one," Tony said, and it wasn't a question.

Gibbs made a face. "They had it coming."

"It's not their fault," Tony said.

"No, it's mine."

Tony frowned at him. "Come again?"

Gibbs didn't like heart to hearts. Opening up and exposing oneself was like going into the field without backup – one was bound to get hurt. He had gone through three marriages without opening up. Of course, his ex-wives may claim that was the reason the marriages didn't work.

"I told you to go to the woods with Ziva," Gibbs sighed. "I knew you were sick. Your cough wasn't because the air was dry, or humid, or whatever."

"I was fine," Tony muttered.

"The same kind of fine that you are now?" Gibbs asked, then reminded himself that he needed to calm down. Anger would lead to Tony getting upset, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Tony glared at him. "I'll be—"

"Don't you dare say fine," Gibbs warned.

"—okay."

They glared at each other, both stubborn to a fault, until Tony started coughing. Gibbs wanted to smack himself for upsetting Tony, even as he helped him sit up. He felt helpless as Tony hacked, drawing ragged breaths. Gibbs hated feeling helpless. His heart raced each time Tony tried to take a breath, only to sound as though no air reached his lungs.

Then Tony leaned against him, limp and worn out, his body shaking.

"I'm tired, boss," Tony said softly. "And all this—perhaps it's for the best if I can't come back."

"Damn it, DiNozzo, don't," Gibbs whispered, pressing a kiss to Tony's temple. "I can't lose you."

Tony had stilled upon the kiss, but Gibbs couldn't be sure that it was because of that, or because Tony was simply so exhausted.

"I'm sorry, boss," Tony said quietly.

Gibbs shook his head, heart heavy. He couldn't even snap at Tony not to apologize because it was a sign of weakness. Right now, Tony was anything but weak, no matter what he said. "This isn't your fault."

"Should've done a better job for you," Tony mumbled.

Gibbs pulled away slightly, which earned a soft sound from Tony, and he gazed down at Tony.

"What are you talking about?" Gibbs asked.

Tony looked at him, his body radiating weariness. "I'm not good enough."

Gibbs stared at him, wondering just how badly he had failed as Tony's boss. Sure, he was a harsh boss, but that was only to get the best out of Tony and the team. He rode them hard, yelled at them when they needed that, slapped them over the head when they got too off track. But not good enough? Why would Tony think that?

He allowed Tony to settle against his chest again, and it felt almost as though Tony snuggled closer. Gibbs held him tight.

"DiNozzo, that's the stupidest thing you've ever said," Gibbs said, hoping his voice was soft and not horrified; he felt the latter, but only towards himself. "You wouldn't have been on my team if you weren't good enough."

Tony coughed lightly, but it didn't turn into a full-fledged attack this time. Gibbs held Tony's limp body securely, leaning back against the headboard of the bed. His back would hurt like hell in just a few minutes, but it didn't matter. This was where he needed to be.

To his surprise, Tony spoke again. The words were quiet and small, and said in a tone that suggested that Tony was almost asleep.

"I just want you to love me."

Gibbs froze, and he was quite certain his heart stopped beating for several seconds. How could his best investigative agent not have realized what should be so obvious? Had Gibbs really cloaked his own feelings so well in harsh words and head slaps that Tony had no idea? They had worked together for years, and Gibbs was uncertain of when admiration of the younger man had turned into something more, but it had. When had that radiant smile become the main reason Gibbs looked forward to going to work in the morning? And Tony's movie references, which did at times drive Gibbs crazy, were often fun to listen to, and had led to several bad guys being caught, ideas taken and changed to fit. To see Tony, so full of life and energy, working a case and being hot on a lead – it made Gibbs fill with pride and joy, and he had lost count of how many times he had wanted to take Tony into his arms and kiss him soundly.

Obviously, but not surprisingly, he had done a very lousy job of showing his affections, if Tony didn't know.

His answer was rough but gentle.

"I already do, Tony. I already do."

He had no idea of Tony heard him or not; either way, there was no response. So Gibbs sat there, the warm body of the man he loved leaning against him, breathing with the help of a mask. He wondered if it should feel so natural – he couldn't remember it feeling so natural, so comfortable, since Shannon.

He never wanted to leave.

--


	6. Chapter six

--

**Chapter six**

--

Tony hated hospitals.

He had figured as much out the first time he was at Bethesda – to be used as a pincushion was even less fun than he had imagined. This time around, he had been put through the fun stuff that was a tube down his throat, a catheter because he couldn't get up to pee – and because sometimes he had been unconscious – and a diverse selection of other procedures and scans that he didn't want to remember.

"Discharged tomorrow. How does it feel?"

Ziva stood by his bed, looking down at him with that small smile of hers. She no longer had her arm in a sling – his four week stint in the hospital meant she had had more than enough time to heal. He had been moved to a regular room, for which he was thankful, although it hadn't been much better than the clean room.

"Like I'm finally getting out of jail," Tony said. "My own _bed_, my own _TV_, my own _apartment_! Can you imagine?"

Her smile grew wider. "I cannot – I could barely stay here overnight."

"Be grateful for that," Tony said.

Of course, the first week he had been pretty out of it and if he hadn't been at the hospital then, he would have been very dead now.

"When are you coming back to work?" Ziva asked. It wasn't the first time she or McGee had asked, and he had dodged the question every time.

"I don't know yet," he replied.

There was a heavy feeling in his stomach as he thought of not being able to return to NCIS at all. Then what would he do with his life? If he couldn't come back to work there, then he was unlikely to get a job in law enforcement at all – they all had about the same requirements for field work. He simply could not see himself as deskbound.

"I am sure Gibbs will have plenty for you to do," Ziva said. "His mood has been extra foul lately – I do believe it is because of you. He is very generous with the head slapping."

"Good to know," Tony said. He was unsure of what to make of it. Gibbs had been by Tony's side through out a large part of his stay at Bethesda, but as the weeks passed and Tony got better, Gibbs had become more absent. Then again, Tony knew that Gibbs had a team to run. McGee, Ziva, Abby and Ducky had kept him updated on the latest cases.

Ziva squeezed his hand. He looked up in surprise.

"I was worried," she admitted quietly.

"Yeah, well, me too," Tony said. He didn't really want to know how close a call it had been. He knew that his temperature after his swim in the water had been dangerously low, and then his fever had been equally dangerously high, and then there had been the lack of oxygen to his body that had led to him being intubated – he could only assume that he had used up some more of his nine lives. Really, he must be part cat – even he realized that he had lived through more things than regular people did.

Ziva started to turn to go, and Tony grabbed her wrist.

"I don't think I ever really thanked you," he said.

She looked at him with some surprise, as though she had forgotten about it. "You would have done the same for me."

"Yeah," Tony said, "but that doesn't mean it doesn't deserve a thank you. You jumped into freezing water for me."

He knew what it felt like, to save someone out of freezing water and getting nothing in return.

She gave a small nod of acknowledgment. "You're welcome."

They shared a smile.

--

A nurse had helped him pack, because he still wasn't supposed to move around too much, and with a single brilliant smile at them – which shouldn't work as well when he still looked like the living dead, but apparently it didn't matter much – they would do almost anything. He didn't encourage them, because he wasn't interested, but packing was dull and required more moving around than he was willing to do.

"You ready to go?"

Tony nodded to Gibbs, who stood in the doorway. Gibbs looked every bit as handsome as Tony expected him to in light blue jeans and a shirt. Casual but hot, and Tony averted his gaze, pretending to study the nurse's behind instead.

"Just waiting for the good doctor to give me his final word and let me go, boss," Tony said with an air of lightness he didn't feel. Doctor Pitt would be delivering his sentence, and neither Tony nor Gibbs knew if that would be a death sentence to Tony's career, or the opposite.

Gibbs walked into the room, standing at the end of the bed. Tony had not yet stood up – it took a lot of energy to be up and walking around, and in a little, he would have to make it to the car and then from the car to his own apartment, which meant he needed to save his resources – but he had sat up. His legs were clad in jeans for the first time in four weeks, and he wore a green shirt instead of the white hospital gown. It felt so normal, he hardly knew what to do with himself.

Gibbs didn't say anything. Really, he hadn't said much in the last few weeks – not since the day when Tony had found out that he might not be able to be an agent anymore, when Gibbs had come and talked to him at night. Tony didn't think Gibbs knew that Tony had heard what Gibbs had said. He was even surprised himself that he remembered it, and hoped that he hadn't imagined it. Tony's ears heated upon remembering his own words to his boss – telling Leroy Jethro Gibbs that he just wanted to be loved by him was not something he would have done under normal circumstances. However, bereft of air and so tired he doubted he would ever be able to stand up straight again, he had said the words anyway.

His heart warmed at the mere thought of Gibbs' reply; those words had certainly occupied his thoughts a lot in the last fortnight.

When Doctor Pitt came into the room, Tony's thoughts came to a screeching halt.

"Well?" demanded Gibbs immediately.

Doctor Pitt broke into a wide smile. "Good news! Your lungs are showing a vast improvement. I will recommend another four to six weeks of desk duty, but if the progress continues as it has, I don't see a problem with you returning to your job."

Tony pushed himself off the bed and walked over to Doctor Pitt, and held out his hand. Doctor Pitt smiled, and took Tony's – and proceeded with a series of shakes and claps; their own secret handshake.

"Congratulations," Doctor Pitt said.

"Thanks," Tony said. "I really mean it. For everything."

"You're welcome," Doctor Pitt said. "Now, I'd recommend you not try any more swimming in cold lakes in mid-winter. Or, for that matter, starting out your return to work by getting blown up, like last time."

"I'll chain him to his desk to keep it from happening," Gibbs growled, and Tony turned around to look at him. There was a small smile on his lips, and his eyes were bright with relief.

"Good," Doctor Pitt said. "Tony, in all seriousness – you won't survive this again. Your immune system and your lungs have been compromised twice, first with the Plague and now the pneumonia, and you'll be even more susceptible to colds. I want you to call me if you so much as sneeze."

Tony nodded. "Noted, doctor."

He knew he had to take this seriously. Twice he had been down with a cough so bad he didn't know if he would ever get air into his lungs again – he did _not_ want to go through that again. He might be blasé about his own health sometimes, but he'd rather be killed by a bullet than drowning in his own lungs. The feeling of not knowing whether he would ever get air into his system again was unpleasant beyond words, and had made it onto his top-three list of worst ways to die.

Gibbs took Tony's bag, filled to the brim with get well cards and teddy bears – Tony would probably give those to charity, because although he appreciated the sentiment, he didn't have much use of them – and his few personal belongings, mostly consisting of movies and magazines, and a sweatshirt.

"Ready?"

"More than ready," Tony said. He bid Doctor Pitt goodbye. "No offense, I hope we don't see each other again in a really, really, really long time."

"The same, Tony, the same," Doctor Pitt said. When Gibbs passed him, Doctor Pitt stopped him briefly. "Keep an eye on him, will you?"

"I intend to keep more than one eye on him," Gibbs responded, hovering close to Tony in a way that he never usually did. Tony wondered what he was supposed to feel about being mother-henned by Gibbs, but then decided to just enjoy it.

They wheeled him to the front entrance, despite Tony's protests – but once they reached the doors, Tony stood up and walked out of the hospital, to smell the freedom of the air outside.

--

"This isn't the way to my apartment," Tony said a half hour later when they sat in the car.

"An astute observation," Gibbs said. "I knew there was a reason I made you my senior field agent."

They stopped in front of Gibbs' house, and Tony's eyebrows rose.

"Did you really think I'd let you go home without anyone to watch you?" Gibbs asked. "You still have meds to take, and I know you won't take them if no one's watching."

"I don't need a babysitter," Tony said, although he didn't mind sleeping over at Gibbs' house. He loved Gibbs' house. The house itself was unspectacular – it was a regular house with an unfinished boat in the basement – but the fact that it was _Gibbs'_ made it lovely.

"Yes, you do," Gibbs said. "Live with it."

He carried the bags into the house and Tony followed. His walk was slow, his muscles still getting used to moving around again. He had hardly been out of bed, even in the last two weeks when he had been in a regular room without a catheter, which meant he had to get up and go to the bathroom. He didn't want to admit just how taxing it was to move the short distance from the car in the driveway to the living room couch, where he flopped down unceremoniously.

"Do you want something to eat?" Gibbs asked.

Tony grinned. "Are you going to take care of me?"

"Until I know that you'll take care of yourself, yes," Gibbs said.

"Aw, it's nice to know that you care," Tony said, tone teasing but the words still true. It _was_ nice to know that Gibbs cared – there had been a few too many occasions when Tony had been unsure. The memory of Gibbs' empty eyes as Tony tried to revive him flashed before his eyes.

A look that Tony couldn't read passed over Gibbs' face, and then it was gone just as quickly.

"Pizza or Chinese?" Gibbs asked.

"Pizza," Tony said. "Real food, wow – I haven't eaten anything but that jelly stuff and hospital crap in weeks."

Gibbs ordered pizza – two large ones with extra cheese – and when they arrived fifteen minutes later, he set them on the living room table and opened the cartons. They smelled delicious, and Tony dug in. He was surprised when he was full after just little less than half a pizza – he could usually eat a whole one without a problem, or even one and a half when he was really hungry.

"No need to finish it," Gibbs said, as though reading his mind. "You haven't eaten much in the hospital."

"You wouldn't have either, if you'd been served the same thing every day for four weeks," Tony said.

He wiped his hands on a napkin, and leaned back into the couch, closing his eyes. It felt so lovely, to feel the delicious smell of pizza and Gibbs' home instead of antiseptics and hospital, the rougher fabric of the couch instead of the soft cotton linens of the hospital bed. At once, it felt almost unreal that he had been in the hospital so long.

"God, this is nice," Tony said.

He felt the weight on the couch shift as Gibbs leaned back. "Lucky you think so, since you're staying."

"How long are you going to keep me here?" Tony asked, smiling slightly.

Gibbs didn't answer immediately, and Tony opened his eyes and looked at him. He found Gibbs staring intently at him, the blue eyes warm but unreadable, as they seemed to be so often.

"How does 'indefinitely' sound?" Gibbs said finally, not looking away.

Tony's eyebrows rose slightly, color tinting his cheeks. "Like a really long time, boss."

He wondered what it meant, Gibbs' words. It undoubtedly seemed as though he wanted Tony there – perhaps to move in. But why? A ray of hope shed light over his soul as he imagined Gibbs inviting him to live there, to stay there, to share Gibbs' life and bed. To kiss Gibbs, to be with him. The thought sent a thrill through his body. But that couldn't be it, could it? Gibbs had said he loved Tony, but that had been in the hospital, perhaps saying what Tony needed to hear to keep him alive. It wasn't—

Then Gibbs moved. Tony found his own face just an inch or two away from Gibbs', and all his thoughts went flying out the window. Gibbs was close enough to be slightly blurry, and Tony could feel Gibbs' warm breath. He licked his lips unconsciously in anticipation, because this was not an action undertaken by Gibbs to keep Tony alive. This was Gibbs, just a breath away, so close that Tony could steal a kiss, just like that.

"Only if you want to, Tony," Gibbs said, voice softer than Tony could ever remember hearing it.

He didn't have to think about the response. "I want to."

At that, Gibbs leaned forward and carefully pressed his own lips to Tony's. Tony could hear his own heartbeat, loud in his ears, and his body seemed to be burning. Gibbs' kiss was surprisingly chaste – a flick of his tongue on Tony's lower lip, but that was all – and not very long.

"Not trying to take my breath away?" Tony asked when Gibbs pulled back, and Tony immediately wished that those warm lips would come back.

"After the last few weeks, that expression seems to have taken on a distinctly unpleasant meaning," Gibbs said.

Tony smiled slightly. "Wow, anyway."

Gibbs matched his smile. "It doesn't change anything at work."

Tony nodded. "Of course not. You'll still head slap me and growl at me."

He hadn't really expected anything. In fact, he hadn't expected what just happened. Everything beyond the kiss was a bonus.

"You usually deserve it," Gibbs remarked dryly.

"Yeah," Tony said. "And it makes me feel wanted anyway. Usually. Though a thank you wouldn't be a bad thing on occasion."

One of Gibbs' eyebrows rose in query.

"Oh, you know," Tony said, "when I save your life and that kind of stuff."

"I should have thanked you on the dock," Gibbs said.

"Yeah, well, you were busy coming back from the dead," Tony said. "I get it, really."

Silence stretched for a few moments, then Gibbs said, "Thank you."

He wondered if he should bask in the moment, because whether or not he would get to kiss Gibbs on a more regular occasion from now on, he still doubted that he would get to hear those words from Gibbs very often.

"Welcome," Tony said, easily and with a smile. "And thank you, too."

"For what?"

"The last four weeks," Tony said. "Being there. With me. Holding me. _Loving_ me. I couldn't have done it without you."

He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Gibbs' lips. It too was short and sweet, but warm in its love and comfort. Tony nestled in against Gibbs' chest, not unlike how they had sat at the hospital on more times than Tony wanted to remember, because it had usually been accompanied by pain.

"Love you, boss," Tony said.

"You really shouldn't call me 'boss' when you say that," Gibbs said, his voice soft as he began to rub circles on Tony's back, just as he had at the hospital. It felt intimate, something shared just between the two of them.

Tony shrugged lightly against him. "Love you, Jethro."

Gibbs gave a low, rumbling chuckle, and Tony decided that was a sound to cherish.

"Love you too, Tony. Always have."

--

_I feel the capacity to care is the thing which gives life its deepest significance._

- Pablo Casals

--

_**Author's note: **__And that's it! A big thank you to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. I hope you've enjoyed it - comments are more than appreciated; they make my day. _


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